


Come Healing of the Body

by Spheredrhyme



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fever, Heart Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Origin Story, Scars, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spheredrhyme/pseuds/Spheredrhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christian has been around the Sons since she first moved to Charming. They were her brothers, and her best friends. She thought she'd seen everything, but when they bring a near-dead Scotsman to her front door, something about him brings up memories from her past. How will she deal with this man suddenly thrust into her life? Chibs/OC Rated M for language and, well, SOA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gather Up the Brokenness

**Author's Note:**

> ***Update from your humble author: Thank-you so much for reading this story! As of yet, I am still without a beta, so I apologize for any errors; grammatical or other-wise! 
> 
> If you’re interested in being a beta for this story, I’d be ever-so-grateful. So. So. Grateful.
> 
> I love and cherish every review and comment on this story, and am so excited that people seem to be enjoying it! I hope to continue with a chapter or two per week, as my schedule allows! But if you don’t see an update from me in a while, PM me! I may just be feeling discouraged with the story, or life is getting crazy!! But I will always post updates if I see that people are interested!!
> 
> Thanks so much!  
> Sphered Rhyme

Chris was finally home for the evening. She’d set herself up on the couch, and was ready to pass out in front of the TV with her dogs. She set her drink down on the aged coffee table in front of her. The neglected stain of the old trunk really buried the beautiful wood underneath. When her grandparents had brought it home, Chris and her brothers made it their home base. It was their fort, their safe zone in games, they used blankets and pillows and brooms to make it their great castle, just like the ones their grandparents told them stories about from Scotland. They would curl up in their castle and eat delicious treats made by their grandma while their granda told them stories of faeries, great tricksters, and mighty heroes.

The hinge had long ago been broken by too many frenzied games of hide and seek, the top wrenched open none too uncarefully by her and her brothers. It was one of the few possessions from her childhood that Chris had managed to keep with her through the years.

She looked forward to propping her feet up on the old table, and zoning out to TV with the dogs. With her work at St. Thomas, she was rarely home at a decent hour, and this week had been especially trying. This was the first day she had been home before 11.

She didn’t mind though. She preferred being at work. At work she was always busy, always going. She didn’t have time to think about anything but work. Most of the time she was at home she spent buried in books or with her dogs. She rarely had time to just sit in front of the TV. She owned a large TV, with one of the newer game systems and games, but it was mostly so that the boys could watch it when they were crashing at her place.

Tonight though, she just wanted to pass out to the mindlessly droning television, letting her mind slip into unconsciousness.

But apparently, that just wasn’t going to happen.

The dogs began whining shortly before Bobby and Tig burst through the door struggling to keep another man in tow with them. She’d never seen the two of them have this much trouble with anyone before.

“Fuck guys! What the hell??” Chris blurted out, shooting up from her place in front of the TV.

If they heard her, they didn’t show it.

The man she didn’t recognize threw a wild haymaker at Tig, and she cringed at the strength of the connection. Tig stumbled backwards into the wall. Bobby rushed forward between them, using himself as a barrier.

“For Christ’s sake Tig! Just fucking get control of him would you?!” Bobby snapped at Tig, letting out a huff at the exertion.

The bruises and cuts on Tig’s face were enough to let Chris know that he’d been the one wrestling with the man for most of the evening.

“Fucking easy for you to say!” Tig was doubled over on the ground, the punch having obviously thrown him off-guard. The other man was relentless. Bobby was using his entire body’s momentum to push him into the opposite wall, barely able to restrain him, even given his large size advantage. “I’ve been wrestling with this cunt for hours! Why don’t we just see how you’d do?!” Tig popped his jaw coming up to one knee, taking his sweet time while Bobby wrestled with the younger man.

“Just fucking control him, would you?!” Bobby barked back, quickly losing his patience, as well as his footing on the tile of the entry way.

“Alright, alright. Shit. You owe me old man.” Tig steadied himself on two feet, and shook off any hesitation he had as he threw himself past Bobby and back into wrangling the other man.

Chris remained next to the couch, content to watch the men squabble after the initial shock of the interruption had worn off. She yielded to the inevitable fact that she’d be cleaning up this mess later. She was used to this, but the club’s initial bust-ins into her house never became any less startling.

She folded her arms across her chest as Bobby straightened himself out. She couldn’t help a slight chuckle when Tig tripped on the lip of carpeting dividing her entry way from the living room.

“Amused are you?” Tig growled through his teeth, red-faced and winded from the fall, trying to keep the upper hand while standing the two of them up, tying to herd the man towards the living room. She cocked an eyebrow at him, “A bit.” She chuckled, turning to Bobby. “To whom do I owe the surprise visit?” She nodded towards the men scuffling towards her living room.

Bobby shook his head, letting out a tired huff, rubbing his jaw. “Ah, that’s the new guy from Belfast. He came over to us after — well, he’s ours now.” The hitch in his usually even baritone elaborated that this was nothing she need press on right now.

She worked to suppress an annoyed grunt as she turned her attention to pulling loose threads from her sofa. “And he’s _here_ because…?” She replied, raising an eyebrow, still looking down at her sofa. She looked up just as she heard the scuffling feet of the men coming her way, and managed to step out of the way. She recrossed her arms to look back at Bobby, who hadn’t missed a beat.

“Because he needs someone who can take care of him.” Bobby replied.

She reached down to pick up a picture that the two had knocked off the back table of her couch, placing it back on the table as they scuffled off. “And he can’t stay at the club because…?” She craned her neck forward, as if actually looking for an answer.

“Look,” Bobby exhaled, running his hands through his hair, gaze shifting to the floor, “he needs more than any of us can give him. You’re the only option we’ve got.” He took a step in her direction, trying to get her to give into his charm.

Chris rolled her eyes, not at all moved by his statement. She knew that he knew exactly what he was doing, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of giving in to it so easily. Tonight, she was not in the mood. “And what? I have sooo much more time than any of you? Why can’t you take him to the hospital? I can’t—“

“He doesn’t have any insurance. We got your shifts at St. Thomas covered. The kids will be fine without you for a few days...” Bobby started really trying to win her over. He knew that her practice was important for her, and they would only get her shifts covered when they really needed her.

Chris mulled it over in her head, thinking a few days off to take care of one of the Sons may not be so bad. Even if he did seem to be a rather, well, _cranky_ guy. If nothing else, he would keep her distracted. Still, she didn’t want the club to just think they could just come running to her every time someone needed a patch up. She _did_ have a life outside of them. Granted, that only consisted of her work and her horses….but—

“Your horses are fine too. Got someone highly recommended from Oswald to take care of ‘em for a few days while we sort this out.” He said, casting a self-satisfied smirk in her direction.

She shook her head, wracking her brain for any excuse they couldn’t have possibly thought of yet. She shifted her weight to look at the man that they wanted to be her burden, Tig having finally wrestled him onto the couch, half throwing him there.

Tig took several haggard breaths before taking one large, deep breath and smoothing out his hair; the thatch of wild dark curls looking, if possible, even more disheveled than usual. She had a brief moment of humor seeing his wild blue eyes glinting with even more than their usual mania.

She walked around to in front of her coffee table/trunk, laughing as Tig flinched when she approached him. “Easy Tiger, he’s down.”

But when her gaze met the mangled body strewn over the side of her couch, her arms fell from their position across her chest, and she fought to keep from reaching out to him.

She was used to the state of the guys that came through her house, but she’d never seen anything that looked so— _personal._ The jeans and black t-shirt that he wore covered most of his body, but from what she could see of his arms, what was hidden didn’t fare much better than what she could see. She could make almost nothing of the face beneath the deep gashes and bruises.

The man she was looking at was different than the angry, wild frenzy of limbs that she watching fighting with Tig just moments earlier. There was emptiness about his eyes, as if something vitally essential to him had been ripped from him, leaving nothing but a bleeding heap staring blankly on her couch.

Unable to wrench her eyes from the beaten man, she asked Bobby, “What—what happened to him?” She stammered, fighting a sudden overwhelming feeling of nausea and fatigue. She stared at the man with a sick fascination. All of the skin that she could see was painted in thick purple and crimson, broken only by angry deep gashes.

The dogs seemed curious about him, though warily keeping their distance, circling around him and the couch. But he seemed to pay the animals no mind, like they weren’t even there.

“That—“he took a hesitant breath, “that’s not for me to tell you Chrissy.” Bobby spoke, a solemn tone coating his words. Chris fidgeted at his statement, running her fingers through her hair nervously, her pulse a heavy presence in the base of her throat.

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

She slowly turned to face him; fervently hoping what she’d seen was an overreaction, a fiction of her sudden adrenaline-fueled imagination. “He needs _you_ , Chrissy. He needs whatever it is _you_ do.” The insinuation of his words reverberated in her mind, not at all helping her will to turn the man away.

“Bobby…” She turned back to look at the mystery man, wondering how she could possibly help him. The wounds on his face were freshly reopened from the scuffle with Tig; thick blood was dripping down his cheeks, oozing out from two main gouges on either side of his mouth. The gashes reminded her of something her granda had told her about.

The mystery guest was nearly as red as the blood seeping down his face. Beads of heavy perspiration standing out on his flushed skin, highlighting just how swollen the skin was. She sighed, a headache forming at the base of her neck, creeping up to her scalp, and beginning a tight squeeze on her temples.

“I just don’t know…”

Bobby spoke, his hand cupping her chin, turning her away from the sight before her to meet his uncompromising gaze, “Please, Chrissy, he needs you.” Bobby knew she couldn’t turn anything on its last chance away. She had a way of finding people that others had given up on. The therapy work she did with her horses had convinced him that she could help anyone. The way the kids come to life when they get around her and those horses, almost made him forget about the rest of his fucked-up world when he saw it. He’d told her as much soon after she’d first come to Charming.

They had her pinned. She couldn’t turn him away. He obviously needed medical attention, and Bobby and Tig were right, she was the only one who could help him here; though she wasn’t buying the ‘no insurance’ act; there was some reason they didn’t want him in a hospital.

She cast a glance in the man’s direction, hanging her head and sighing heavily, “I’ll do it.” Her eyes squinted and she brought a hand up to her forehead, running it through her hair, “I’m going to need a few things for him though, and I don’t have anything in the fridge. And I might need someone to watch him while I go on a supply run; I haven’t looked at my first aid cabinet lately.”

The tension fell from Bobby’s face, and he engulfed her in a bear hug. “Thanks Chrissy, we owe you one.”

“Yeah yeah,” she pushed him off, unable to help the smile creeping onto her face, as he managed to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Love you girl.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how I feel about _you_ in a few days.” She replied, rolling her eyes, through glad for Bobby’s effortless ability to lift her mood.

She felt a slap on her shoulder, as she was whirled around into Tig’s embrace. “Good luck Chrissy-Boo. You’re gunna need it.”

The sound of his hated nickname for her made her grimace, and she struggled to get out of his tight embrace as he planted a kiss on her forehead.

She wrestled her way out of his hug, sidestepping a ways away from him until she was nearly at her door. “I hate you guys.” She didn’t miss the look of trollish satisfaction of Tig’s smug face. She wrinkled up her nose and stuck her tongue out at him as he and Bobby both scrambled out the door before she had a chance to change her mind.

“Love you!” They both hollered from her front yard as they ran to their bikes.

She sighed and let out a shaky laugh as she leaned against the door frame, closing the red door behind her. She smoothed her hair while she waited to hear the rumble of their bikes starting up. She stepped to the left of the door, peering through her curtains, watching their headlights pull out of her driveway, and the van follow behind them.

She closed her curtains and locked her door as the bikes rumbling faded away. She glanced down at her youngest dog, a black German Shepherd, standing at her side and cocking his head at her, shifting his weight back and forth, obviously still unsettled by the guy’s interruption.

She shook her head, sighing as she patted him on the head, “Yeah Harley, I don’t like when they do that either.” Her other shepherd, Khunny, was still in the living room, and she could just see his tail poking out from the side of the couch where the man was still seated.

She braced herself as she turned to go to the man.

_Well, this should be fun._


	2. The Splinters That You Carry

She started back to her living room to tend to the man she’d been put in charge of. Sighing at the mess in her foyer, she was at least grateful that she’d learned not to keep anything valuable in her entry way. She looked to the back runner table behind her sofa, making sure none of the photos there had been harmed. She grimaced when she saw the all-too-familiar smear on one of the smaller photos of her and her brother. She grabbed it, and wiped the blood smear off the glass, placing it back with the other photos.

As she looked past the photos, she almost tricked herself into thinking that the man on the couch was just one of the guys, still bumming at her house after the others had left. From the back, she almost laughed at the look of him. With his dark hair disarrayed, she could almost imagine that he had just come in from a ride, his hair ruffled by the breeze of the crisp night air.

It made her feel a little more light-hearted to picture that scenario, even if only for a moment, as she walked back towards her dark living room, over to the wall to turn on the lights.

She shut her eyes and clenched her fists at her side as she mentally braced herself for what she was going to see of him in the new light, fighting the already present feeling of uneasiness in her stomach. She took a calming breath, and plastered a neutral, but pleasant look on her face, and turned back to the sofa, keeping her eyes on Harley and Khunny until she reached her love seat adjacent to the man.

She perched herself on the arm of the loveseat, directly across from him. She still hadn’t looked up at him in the new lighting; she wasn’t sure she was ready yet.

Harley was still antsy at her side, not wanting to come closer to their new guest, and looking to her for how to proceed. She smiled, desperately wishing _she_ had someone to look to in this situation. She spoke, keeping her voice steady and light as she bent over and patted the arm of the sofa next to the man lightly, “Pups calm down! He’s a friend!” She paused, not quite believing it herself.

She silently cursed herself. She knew he was a friend. The club wouldn’t bring her someone dangerous without leaving someone with her. She shoved away any reluctance she had towards the man and told herself that he was a part of SAMCRO now, and she needed to treat him just like he was any of the others.

 _For Christ’s sake, Chrissy, just look at the man! You’re being ridiculous. You’ve seen gore before._ She berated herself for having been so rude, as she finally looked away from her dogs, and to the man in question.

Pictures on the internet can’t prepare you for real life. And, often times, real life doesn’t prepare you for the violence the people can inflict upon one another. In the light, the brilliant crimson of blood and torn muscle shone like glistening rubies just uncovered from a new split in the earth, with some of the rubies spilling out of the split, cascading down into the hills below. Of all the horrible things Chris had seen helping the Sons, she never could have imagined anything like this.

Khunny rose up; relaxing more after sniffing the man some more while Chrissy was near. She ruffled the dogs’ ears as he gently inspected the stranger, sniffing and licking at his bruised fingers. She was glad for the distraction away from the gruesome sight in front of her. Chris braced herself for some reaction from the stranger, but he did nothing; his eyes curiously dead as he continued to stare blankly in front of himself.

She silently cursed herself yet again for not asking Tig or Bobby what his name was. She’d been so busy trying to convince them not to dump him with her that she hadn’t even thought to ask.

_Okay ‘John Doe’, let’s see what I can do for you._

“At least the dog likes you.” She muttered, trying to reassure herself more so than the stranger. Khunny was usually a good judge of character, well, good enough for her at least.

The man finally glanced down at the dog, acknowledging its presence. The action caused thick blood and pus from his freshly open wounds to drip down from his face onto the carpet.

Chris took a deep breath knowing that she had to take care of those wounds before they became infected any further. With the shape he was in, she didn’t think he could afford for it to get any worse.

Chris stood up, making her way to her hall closet. She opened the door, grabbing items from her first aid “kit” from the top shelf, loading them onto a tray she kept stocked with basic equipment. The closet wasn’t so much a kit so much as her own personal triage station. It had grown immensely over the years since she’d come to Charming, with the Sons dragging their broken in and out of her apartment every few weeks. Her grandda had taught her most of what she knew, but the crash course she’d had her first few months with the club really tested her mettle. Her grandda had been a surgeon in not only the military, but also in civilian life before he’d retired. His teachings, combined with what she’d learned in the last few years, more than made up for the fact that she worked at St. Thomas in psychiatry, rather than in trauma. She really didn’t mind stitching up the guys; it felt to her like a way of keeping her grandda’s memory alive.

She made her way back to the living room, tray in hand. She made a quick turn into her bedroom, tying her long dark hair back into a high ponytail to keep it out of her way. She did her best to ignore her worn appearance in her vanity mirror. Her dark eyes held signs of exhaustion; her makeup faded from a long day’s work.

“That’s as good as it’s going to get.” She huffed as she picked up the tray and headed out to her sofa. Harley had, and continued to follow her every move, while Khunny was still at the stranger’s feet.

She put the tray on the trunk, giving her guest another quick once over. He was a mess, the dark blood and pus beginning to stiffen and congeal on his face. Now that she was closer to him, she could see just how deep they ran. They looked like they’d already been stitched once; she could see a few deep red welts at the sides of the cuts, but he seemed to be lucky that the stitches had only torn at the upper levels, the stitching deep in the muscle still intact, though not exactly professionally done. She was amazed he was still alive.

_This is going to be a long night._

She stood up to go to her kitchen, needing to grab a large bowl and boil some water. She found herself wondering exactly how she had come to be regularly patching up outlaw bikers in her living room. A few years earlier, she’d secured a position at St. Thomas, and packed up her dogs and horses, her grandda’s 1979 Fat Bob, and her few possessions and left Texas to start anew in Charming.

That’s when she’d met Tig Trager and the rest of SAMCRO. She’d stopped by TM Auto looking to drop off her Grandda’s bike for a tune-up before heading onto her new house, and Khunny had hopped right out of the truck, running up to Tig as if he’d known the man all his life. The friendship between her and the club had started that very day.

The SAMCRO prospect at the time severed his palm down to his wrist fucking something up in the garage, and Chris had simply been in the right place at the right time. She managed to convince the guys to let her patch it up with the kit she kept in her truck. The club had taken notice of her skills, and of course, her Fat Bob, and a friendship was born between she and the MC. She’d even found herself befriending the club pres’ old lady.

She and Tig became fast friends after that day. He was the one that tuned up her Grandda’s old bike, so they’d had plenty of time to talk. His rather gross and lustful satisfaction of the morbid things in life, mixed with his childish sense of humor put Chris at ease. And she won him over with her dog and her love of good liquor. He’d even gone with her the day she drove up to Washington to get Harley from a breeder in Seattle.

It seemed that now, anytime a Son needed some quick medical attention—or needed to stay out of the hospital— they decided to stop by Chris’s house. It didn’t matter what time of day or night; if they came, Chris fixed them right up.

Once the water had boiled, she poured it into a large bowl, and went back out, finally having everything she needed. She came back to see Khunny up on the couch, with his head in the man’s lap. “Caomhnoir! Get down, now!” The dog immediately leapt down, but still stuck close to the man. Silly dog. She felt bad for yelling at him, but she really didn’t want anything to set the guy off right now, and she had no idea how he felt about dogs, especially 120-pound German Shepherds.

“Caomhnoir…”She was jerked out of her thoughts by the rasping of the familiar word in an accent she’d not heard in years; though she was more startled by the beauty in the man’s pronunciation, despite it being heavily covered by the dryness of his voice.

She waited a moment, unsure of how to respond. She couldn’t get any sort of read on this man. This was the first he’d even spoken since he’d been dropped on her sofa by his new brothers.

She sat the bowl down on the trunk, and perched herself uncomfortably on the edge of the loveseat, barely a foot away from him. She cleared her throat, deciding just to engage him. “Yes, Caomhnoir, that’s his name.”

His reply was near inaudible, but she could hear him whispering her dog’s name once or twice more.

“Well…that’s his name. My name is Chris. The other doof over there is Harley. We’re going to try and patch you up a bit.” She paused, trying to get any read on the man in front of her. Getting nothing, she felt compelled to continue, “Well, not exactly all of us will be, mostly me. The dogs like to think they’re helpful, but more often than not, they’re just in the way.”

Still, nothing from him.

“Well… I don’t believe we’ve yet been graced with your name yet sir.” She craned her neck down, trying to get a better look at him. Perhaps she could see something of his emotions.

“Caomhnoir…’guardian’…”he spoke, his voice still raspy, but definitely getting a bit stronger with the use. He slowly raised his head up to look her in the eye. The red ooze was highlighting the swollen planes of his face. The thickness of it, mingling with the sweat made it hard for Chris to maintain her friendly demeanor.

She swallowed the acrid bile building up in her throat, trying to ignore the pungent, sour odor of infection stemming from his wounds, the fragrance of it choking her as she tried not to gag. She turned to grab supplies from the tray to begin cleaning his wounds.

He surprised her, turning and grabbing hold of both of her arms. She fell back as his weight came down on top of her, pinning her to the ground by the couch. Khunny and Harley immediately began barking and growling at the man, but he didn’t seem to take any notice.

“Why’s tha’ his name??” He growled out, the moist heat of his breath suffocating her.

Chris began to feel the start of panic seeping into her mind, but she wouldn’t allow it to take hold of her. She closed her eyes briefly, doing her best to try and twist out of his hold.

He was starting to hurt her, pushing her further into the ground, tightening his grip on her arms with every struggle she made. She could feel the angry burn of his skin where he had her arms pinned, and feel the heat radiating off the rest of his body.

She spoke, her words coming out in a quick gasp between her struggles to get free, “What the fuck do you mean?”

“Caomhnoir! You obviously know! He must have planted you here at the beginning of all this shite! Wasn’t everything else enough?!” He was screaming at her now, the frenzied and awkward gestures of the two of them causing fresh blood from his wounds to splatter onto her face.

His grip continued to tighten, his nails digging into her wrists. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe with his entire weight and anger crushing her down. The immense heat and biting scent of him were threatening to completely smother her.

“What the hell’s your deal?! Get off me!” She shrieked, still trying to twist out of his grasp, but he had her pinned between the couch and the trunk, and she couldn’t get a good angle to throw him off.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”He bellowed down at her, his face contorted in an expression taught with strain and wild misery.

“Stop it, you jackass! Fucking listen to me!” She screamed back at him, coiling every muscle in her back and abdomen tight, releasing in a wild push to throw him onto his back with her on top of him.

In the sudden move he lost his grip on her arms and she pinned him down beneath her. “Now listen!” she panted, more so out of anger now, than exertion, “My grandparents are Scottish; my parents are Scottish; for Christ’s sake— _I’m fucking Scottish!_ My childhood was spent off the coast. My grandda taught me Gaelic because I was the only one of my siblings who was willing to sit and listen to him!”

She was fuming, she didn’t notice if the man was resisting her or not. “From the old stories he would tell me, I happened to pick up the word for guardian, so fuckin’ sue me alright?!” She shoved the man down, hard, into the carpet and stood up, taking a few staggering steps away from him.

“UGH!” She released all of her frustration in a large breath. “Harley, Khunny! Outside, NOW!” She wrenched the door to the backyard open, and the dogs both stared at her, clearly not wanting to leave her there alone. Chris took a deep breath, shaking her head as she spoke again, her voice a bit more demanding, “Go, NOW.”

Both dogs hesitated for another moment more, but went through the open door, and she slammed it behind them.

She would rather not deal with them right now. It was too much of a distraction having the dogs around while she handled her _unruly_ guest.

She took some calming breaths, and wiped the blood from her face with the back of her sleeve. She felt her lungs expand with the fresh air, free of the stench of the man. Standing there for a moment more, she tightened her pony tail, finally feeling again as though she could think clearly.

She turned back to look at the Scot once more, only now realizing the odds of a Scotsman, who knew any Gaelic, no less, being thrown into her life. He was still lying on the floor looking stunned, his eyes alight with pain.

Her whole body sagged at the sight. She immediately felt overwhelmingly guilty over what had just occurred.

She was supposed to be helping him, and all she’d managed to do was fight with him, obviously putting him in more pain. She shook her head, scolding herself, hammering it into her head that she needed to be gentle with him.

She walked over and extended her hand down to him in a goodwill gesture, and tried not to roll her eyes when he didn’t not accept it. She did her best to pull him up from his back and push him into a sitting position with his back against the couch.

She tensed her jaw and tried to ignore the hiss of pain this action elicited form her new quest. She pulled the trunk aside, and crouched down in front of him.

His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. She dared to speak, trying her best to sound calmer than she felt. “What did you get yourself into?” she whispered to him.

He looked up at her, and she searched desperately for anything in his eyes. She sighed as her gaze was met by guarded eyes. He wasn’t going to give her anything after that altercation. Frustrated, she turned to collect the towels that had been knocked off the trunk by their tussle. Thankfully though, the bowl of water had managed to stay on the table.

On nights like this, when one of the members was dropped off with her, bleeding and broken, she was expected to fix them. It was never easy to patch them up, but she usually managed. She had grown to love the club. They were her family now. They had adopted her into their more than slightly dysfunctional family. The accepted her, and she loved them all.

She loved them all, but sometimes, it was too much.

“Hallelujah, I’m coming home.” She sang/laughed to herself; a lyric from a song that the guys would sometimes sing when they came to her, broken, bleeding, half-dead; none of them could be serious.

She usually at least knew the guys she was patching up, and generally knew what had happened to them, but this man was a mystery to her. _A damned enigma._

She didn’t even know his name. Where was he from? What the hell happened to him? She stared back down at the kit she’d thrown together; counting the bottles of antiseptic, bandages, gauze, clean cloths, sewing kit, etc. etc. She mindlessly arranged it all on the table.

When she was satisfied, she turned back to the broken man before her.

She couldn’t believe how little she could make out of his face underneath all the caked blood and pus. All she could see clearly were his eyes, and even those were partially hidden from her, the deep lidded eyes; the dark irises depthless, brilliant and suffocating as he eyed her warily.

They reminded her of her grandda. Come to think of it, so did his accent.

_What happened that you had to come all the way here to get away from it?_

He’d gone back to staring blankly at the wall. The blood was hardening more and more onto his face, making a paste that glued the gashes together, and she wanted to clean it before it became too hard.

She thought of one more thing that may be helpful. She stood and went to her liquor cabinet, and found what she was looking for right in front. She brought an unopened bottle of Johnny Black and two glasses back to the sofa with her.

She sat down in front of him, and noticed his eyes flicker to the bottle she was holding. _Hah. Always one way to get a Scot’s attention._

She began to pour it into the glasses, “You know, there’s not a Scot I know that can resist the lure of good scotch in front of him. My Grandda always said that there were only three things in life worth living for: The Lord and Savior, a pretty woman, and a good scotch.”

She snickered, pouring the second cup, “Well, we’ve at least two of those things here. You’ll have to find a pretty woman elsewhere, but, hey, two out of three ain’t bad.”

Looking back at him, she held a glass out in his direction. He stared back at her, his eyes flecked with a dark reserve she couldn’t place. He made no move to accept the drink. She slackened a little, disappointed that she couldn’t get through to him. Chris knew that the wounds must be excruciatingly painful, especially freshly reopened and bothered as they were.

“Look…I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know where you’re from. Hell, I don’t even know your name. But I can’t sit here and do nothing with you suffering in front of me. You’re my charge now, and the club expects me to keep you alive.” She motioned again with her hand, attempting to get him to take the glass.

She spoke again, sighing, “Help me out?” She cocked her eyebrow at him, all of her willing him to take it.

He studied her for a moment, then tentatively reached out to take the glass. She noticed his whole arm was shaking as he struggled to bring it back to himself.

He stared down at the drink, holding it in both hands near his abdomen. The tremors in his hands wouldn’t seem to let up, and some of it was spilling onto him.

She reached over to help him steady his hands, and was once again alarmed by the heat of his skin. His body tensed at her touch, and he looked at her, a near-frightened flash in his eyes. But the fear was immediately replaced with anger. He jerked away from her, setting the glass on the ground, “Jus’ leave me alone lass.”

Chris twisted her lips, becoming more annoyed with his attitude.

_Yay. Brooding. Fan-fucking-tastic._

He turned his head away, obviously annoyed with her as well.

“God! I am so SICK of you damn bikers and your issues!!”

She jumped up, throwing her hands to her head, clenching her hair in her fists. “All of your stupid biker toughness, and your biker-issues, and your self-absorbed biker-shit!! Do y’all ever think about how hard it is to deal with you stupid fucking idiots when you’re broken and pathetic and BLEEDING ALL OVER MY FUCKING COUCH?! NO! NONE OF YOU GIVE A SHIT! It’s all about you guys and your stupid, God-damned biker problems!”

She sat back down in front of her guest, arms crossed and huffing. He was just staring at her, an odd, ill-placed soberness to his expression. She hissed out a breath, rolling her eyes, “Look, I’m sorry.” She lowered her tone, “Obviously you’ve been through something that I don’t even want to imagine. I’m just tired of patching you guys up and dealing with all the shit that comes with it.”

He continued staring at her. She put her hands to her head, using her fingers to nurse the headache that that had sprung to her temples. She knew she was being childish; she was just growing frustrated with being the Sons personal caretaker. It had been a long week as it was, and the last thing she’d wanted to do tonight was play doctor, especially with some jackass Scot who seemed to enjoy burning holes through her.

She spoke again, shaking her head, “Be that as it may. I still need to get you cleaned up. That’s—“she motioned to his face, “— obviously infected. It’s only going to get worse. Please, let me help you. The scotch will help with the pain. That’s why I wanted you to drink it. You know it will help. Please?”

She grabbed the glass that he’d set down, and held it out to him once more, raising her eyebrows at him, literally begging for him to take it from her.

He hesitated, but eventually reached out and took it, taking it back and then turning back to her, with barely a grimace; just a slight tightening at the corners of his jaw. She chuckled, and ‘toasted’ her glass to him, taking hers back as well.

“Let’s get to this than, shall we?”

He continued just to sit there staring at her. His eyes locked hers in a challenging glare. She looked at him for a moment before turning around and grabbing a towel, soaking it in the warm water. She scooted herself and the trunk a bit closer to him, and hovered with the towel near his face.

As she put it to his face, he grabbed her wrist, “Leave it be lass.”

Her face fell, “It’s already infected, and the infection’s going to spread. It could kill you.”

“Let it then.” He jerked her wrist out of his grasp, closing his eyes and leaning his head into the couch. She sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to win this battle tonight.

“Okay then, well,” She got up and went to her back door, letting the excited dogs back in, “ _We’re_ going to bed for the evening.” Khunny walked over by the man, looked at Christ, and then sat down a few feet from him.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a ‘guardian’ for the night.” She huffed sarcastically.

She went into her guest room, flicking the lights on, and turning over the covers. As she walked through the living room back to her own bedroom, she noticed that he was watching her, his head still pressed into the sofa cushions. He looked wretched; she couldn’t help the creeping feeling of worry over the Scot.

She leaned against the doorframe of her bedroom, “That room’s for you, should you decide to move your ass at all tonight. It’s a pillow-top mattress and everything.” She chuckled, throwing up a sarcastic jazz-hand display. “Lap of luxury here. Nothing less for my broken-bikers.”

He looked away from her, turning his head towards the hallway, but didn’t make any move to get up.

“As you wish then, my liege.” She took a half-hearted fake bow and went into her room, pulling the door to, but not all the way in case Khunny wanted to come in later.

She walked into her bathroom to wash her face, ready to wind-down from the nights’ events.

As she went about her nightly routine, she couldn’t shake his eyes from her mind. She’d never seen anyone that looked so lost, but still with so much life. Like he just couldn’t decide if he actually wanted to die; the stubborn, stupid bastard.

She shook her head and laughed out loud. Harley, having followed her into the bathroom, cocked his head at her, “Yeah, you too bud. All you men. Stubborn stupid bastards, the lot o’ ya.”

She reached down and patted him; he licked her hand and whined, obviously still a bit out of sorts from the events of the night. He wasn’t as old and calm as Khunny yet. He was still just a pup at only ten months old.

Before she got into her bed, she peeked outside into the living room; Khunny was still there, so she figured that meant the man was as well. _Good boy, Khunny,_ she thought to herself, _keep him safe._ She silently prayed that he would last the night.

She went over to her bed and slipped into it, ready for sleep. Harley jumped up next to her and immediately curled up by her side, like he did each night. She knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy for her tonight, if it did at all. She opened a drawer in her nightstand that held all of her prescription medications, and pulled out an Ambien.

She sighed as she took it, hoping maybe it would help her sleep, but knowing it probably wouldn’t. She looked at her phone before she put it away for the night, and sent a quick text to Tig:

_Be free tomorrow_

_I’m going to need you._

_Love you Tiggy._

She sighed, and rolled over, a fitful night’s sleep fraught with worry to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok a little clarification on the Gaelic in this chapter, and the rest of the story. Chris's grandda in this story is based on my own. He was a medic in the British Army, and continued his medical career when he was out of the army as well. He taught me some Irish Gaelic that he knew, as well as some Scottish, but through the years, the distinction between the two has been muddled in my brain, so for simplicities-sake, when Chris uses Gaelic, it's going to be Irish Gaelic, because that's the one I know a better, and is easier to find references for that are correct online.
> 
> Regarding Khunny, her older dog, his real name is Caomhnoir, which the Irish Gaelic word for guardian. Based off the pronunciation, the dog's nickname is Khunny, because; let's face it, that's just easier to say. Both he and Harley are based on my own two dogs, and those are their real names.
> 
> The song Chris references that the Sons sing when they come over is the Ryan Bingham song, "Hallelujah". If you don't know about him, check him out; he's phenomenal.
> 
> As always, please leave a review! Tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you'd like to see, etc. etc. I love and live for your feedback!
> 
> Love my readers,
> 
> Sphered Rhyme


	3. Behold the Gates of Mercy

Those eyes.

She’d been thinking about them all night. They were achingly familiar, yet, with with the familiarity of the dark eyes, came a depth of unknown that Chris felt compelled to delve into. Her sleepless night had been interspersed with bouts of fitful dreaming that had her imagining the horrors that brought flat hardness to eyes she felt should be filled with softness and compassion.

She’d lain awake all night troubled by these thoughts, unable to ever truly fall asleep. So when she’d got the urge to wake up, turning over and noting that it was 5 in the morning, she knew that was all the sleep she was going to get for now.

She just wanted to lie in bed and pretend that she could fall back asleep though. And she was tempted to try, but Harley had other plans. As if he knew she was going to give into her temptation, Harley placed his head on her pillow, letting out a long huff directly into her ear. “Agh, jeez! I’m up, I’m up!!” She pushed the brute off her pillow, and groaned, sitting up out of bed.

“Oh Harley, the only man I’m ever happy to see in the morning.” She laughed and patted him, remembering all the dreadful mornings she’d woken up with some stranger’s eyes looking back at her. Eyes were always the first thing she noticed about people, and the only thing she _always_ remembered.

She shook the night’s thoughts from her head as she was reminded again of what time it was by her ever-faithful companion. She stretched and pulled on a hoodie over her t-shirt and boxers, and headed into the kitchen, opening the backdoor on her way so the dogs could go out. She often thought about just installing a dog door, but when she was home, she liked to have the back door open, especially when the weather was nice. Her grandparents never locked their doors; they’d always wanted them to be open if anyone needed help; so that people knew they were always welcome there. And she wanted to make sure her door was always open for her guys, lord knows they needed to feel like they were welcomed somewhere in town, and so her door remained always open to them.

She scooped up the dog’s food and put their bowls on the floor, and put on a good, strong pot of coffee. While it was brewing, she made her way out to her front porch to fill up the cat food.

She only had one cat that was truly hers, but countless strays would come and go from her neighborhood, with a few that had claimed her house as their own, and Chris was more than happy to share. She often made jokes at herself about her never keeping a steady man, and her eventually ending up as the neighborhoods’ crazy cat lady. And, honestly, that suited her just fine. She preferred animals to people. She always knew where she stood with animals.

She went back inside to pour her coffee, and only then realized that there was something missing in her routine; Khunny. She hadn’t seen him yet this morning. She went out to the living room and found that he wasn’t there; and neither was the Scot. She walked to her hallway and peered into the guest room.

Khunny was curled up on at the foot of the bed, and the man was passed out on top of the covers.

_Huh, who knew._

She chuckled, and went back into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She grabbed a book on her way to the guest room, and tucked it under her arm. She slowly opened the door all the way, and walked in. She had to stifle a laugh when Khunny saw her. All 120 pounds of him was curled up at the foot of the bed, his tail was wagging furiously. “You want to go outside bud?” she whispered, and his tail wagging sped up, but he didn’t move from his spot. She chuckled, she just couldn’t help it, “Well, the door’s open for you whenever you decide you can leave him.”

She knew from her quick survey of the living room that none of the supplies for his face had been used, and she had expected as much. _I wonder when he made his way back here._ She had been awake for a few hours after actually going to her room, and she hadn’t heard any movement from outside her door.

 _Well, at least he’s asleep._ He didn’t look to be having very restful sleep though, so she decided to stay in the room and keep an eye on him. She knew better than to wake a sleeping man, so she pulled the chair around to the nightstand, and set down her coffee. She cracked open her book, starting where she’d left off.

 _Maybe it’ll be a peaceful morning._ She hoped, but she knew better than to believe it.

She looked up from her book after a while of reading. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but not more than an hour or so. Khunny was whining, and moving up closer to the man’s side. Chris closed her book and set it down, slowly leaning in to look him over more closely.

He was awash with sweat, every inch of him soaked, even the pillow and comforter beneath him. She stood, quickly crossing the distance to the side of the bed. She touched his arm—

He was burning, his skin alarmingly hot. She immediately shooed Khunny off the bed, away from the man; he didn’t need any excess heat. He was definitely sweating more than the night before, and his whole body was shivering.

_Shit shit shit._

She looked for his pulse at his neck, and counted for a moment, growing more and more alarmed by the heat radiating off his skin.

_110 bpm. Shit._

She snapped on the overhead light, and comes back to him. “Jesus” she muttered. Part of his shirt was raised up, exposing his belly and ribs. She hadn’t seen under his shirt at all last night, and she had secretly hoped that maybe his torso had fared better than what she had been able to see, but she was, of course, wrong. He was covered in deep bruises, patches of dark, pooling burgundy. His breathing was coming in harsh and ragged gasps, and the shivering was more intense than she had realized. She put a hand to his neck again, trying to see if his pulse was getting higher.

“Shit!” She gasped as his hand shot up to grab her wrist, his eyes snapping open. He doesn’t grab her hard, and he doesn’t say anything; just looked her full in the eyes for a moment, before his body seized, and his face twisted in pain. She felt him shudder as he drew in a sharp breath, his hand flying to his chest, desperately clutching at it like a lifeline. She saw the actual muscles in his jaw clench through the deep rips in his face, and she felt helpless to do anything for him. Every breath he took came as a sharp gasp, accented by choking exhales as he writhed in frenzied movements all over the bed.

She grabbed the hand that was not gripping his chest, “Hey hey hey, I’m here; I’m here.” His hand was a quivering fist under her own. She put her other hand on his chest, atop his own, and tried to brace his side up against her hip, restricting his movements as much as possible. She felt the rapid beating of his heart under her hand, and was at a loss for what to do.

_Try to calm him down, Chris, that’s all you can do right now. Help. Him._

“Right, right.” She took a calming breath for herself, and then looked down at him. “Hey, look at me,” she moved her hand from his chest to his face, sweeping the damp strands of hair from his forehead, “Shhhh, look at me hun, look at me.” He looked up at her with effort, eyes narrowed in pain, “Good, good, I need you to try and breathe, okay? I know it’s hard, but try, ok?” His eyes locked on hers, gaze alarmingly direct. The hand that she had been holding opened up, and she immediately released it, but his shaking hand found hers again, nearly crushing her hand within his grasp.

He stared at her, eye bleak with frightened despair; sunken orbs lost in the darkness that rimmed them. She held his gaze, smiling slightly at him. She took his hand that was clutching at his chest, and brought it to her chest, “Feel my breaths, breathe in and out, with me.” She took several deep breaths with him, finding it hard to look at him without breaking down herself.

After several more deep breaths, his body started to relax, as did his grip on her hand. “There, just a few more breaths; in and out.” His breaths were still rasping in and out of him, but he seemed to be in less pain; his eyes looking up at her lazily, through half-closed lids. His arm went lax, and she let it drop from her chest back to the bed. After a few more moments, he faded out, his eyelids drooping closed.

She sat beside him and listened for a moment, letting herself calm down, as she was suddenly aware of the thumping of her own heart in her ears. With each breath he took, she could feel the rattle in his chest. When a long while went by with his breathing staying, for the most part, stable, she got up to retrieve her phone from her room, and immediately called Tig.

“….hmmmph??”

“Tig?” she murmured into the phone.

“Why tha fuck are you callin’ me this fucking early? I ought to kill ya.”

She chuckled. _Must’ve had a wild night last night_. “Charming, Tig. Look, I know you probably had a crazy night or whatever —and, before you tell me, I don’t want to hear about it — but I need your help with the Scot you left here last night.”

“Oh fuck no! Not that cunt. Find someone else to help you with the prick.”

She had to hold the phone out to stifle her laughter, “But Tiggy, you won’t come help your Chrissy? I’m hurt.” She paused, “But, that’s fine. I’ll call Jax and Opie; those two fine strapping young lads are always—“

“Awwww noooooo, don’t call them. They aren’t as cute as me.” She could hear his pouting loud and clear through the phone.

She stifled more laughter, “Well of course not Tiggy, but they _are_ younger. Maybe they can handle him a little bit more easily than you could. We wouldn’t want you to hurt your back again now would we?” She snickered, remembering the time he tried to help her with a foal and she’d nearly died laughing when he’d thrown out his back. He’d been so pissed; he wasn’t able to ride for a month.

“Look it miss, I ain’t dead yet. I’m stronger than the two of those skinny pricks put together. Fuck off with them—I’m coming.”

“Oh, are you sure? Wouldn’t want to accidentally injure—“

“Fuck off! I’ll be there in 20.”

“Hehehe thanks Tiggy!” She giggled at his grumbling.

“Yeah whatever. Lucky I like you…” She hung up not giving him the chance to finish what she was sure to be a delightfully colorful ending.

She walked back to the guest room to make sure that the Scot was still asleep, and then went back to the kitchen to draw up a bowl of hot water. She figured now was as good a time as any to try and get him cleaned up a bit.

She drifted around getting things she needed moved into the guest room.  She was just filling up a second bowl with water when she heard her door open.

“Tig! You made it! Didn’t rattle any of those bones on your ride up here did you?”

“Oh shut up. I told you lady, I’m in my prime.” Tig stuck his nose up in the air, tossing his hair back

“You sure about that?” She made her way behind him and started combing through his hair with her fingers, “You know, there _are_ a few grey hairs here in this tangled black mess on your head that beg to differ.”

“I don’t have any grey hairs….” He said, swinging himself around to check himself in the hallway mirror.

“Haha, sure you don’t Tiggy.”

He turned around to face her again, “So what’s up with the Scotsman?”

“He was acting crazy last night; damn had to beat him off me.” Chris was glad for her hoodie that hid the faint bruises that were starting to show on her wrists. “He wouldn’t let me clean his wounds. I eventually gave up and went to bed.” She stopped herself there, still feeling guilty over having just left him there all night without having tried to do anything further. “This morning I went to check on him…” she didn’t want keep thinking about it. She wanted it to have been a dream, and she was just going to wake up and the guy would be fine.

Tig’s eyebrows creased together, “And what? What’s going on Chris?”

She closed her eyes, looking down at the floor. This was reality, and she was just going to have do deal with it, however desperately she wished she didn’t have to. Tig reached to her chin, and lifted her head up to look at him, his blue eyes piercing hers, glowing with concern. “What’s wrong, Chris?”

She sighed, “He looks bad, Tig; really bad. His wounds look… angry. I mean they’re already going to scar over as it is, but if I don’t get him cleaned up soon…” She started tearing up a little, and immediately kicked herself for it. _You don’t even know the guy._ “He’s burning up. If I can’t get it under control… I don’t think he’ll make it much longer.”

She sighed, “I can’t handle him on my own Tig. Do you think you could get John and Clay to let you stay here for a couple days?”

“I don’t know Chrissy…”

“Please Tig? I need your help.”

He sighed, “Let me call Clay.”

“Thanks Tigger.” She hugged him reaching up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He rolled his eyes at her, grumbling as he walked away to call John, “The things I do for you…”

_Thank God for that man._

She snorted, “Well, maybe not _God,_ exactly.”

But whoever or whatever brought him to her, she couldn’t be more thankful. He was her best friend. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

She glanced at the clock in the living room — it was already one in the afternoon. _Shit. I must’ve been reading for longer than I thought._ She went back to her bathroom, brushing her teeth and throwing a headband over her hair. She slipped out of her boxers, and went to rummage around in her dresser for some sweatpant. She drug on a light grey pair that we clean.

“He said okay.” Tig said, startling her when he came up behind her.

“Jesus Tig, I’m going to get a damned bell for you.”

He grinned a lecherous grin, “Oh, I see, you want _me_ to be the pussy. Well, anything for you baby-doll.”

“Ew, Tig, really?” She chuckled quietly, and swatted his arm.

“Oh come on baby,” he stuck out his hip in a diva pose, “You know you want some of this—“he ran his hands along his body, and a wave of hysterical laughter broke through her.

“You look like one of the strippers down at the Jellybean.” She shuddered-those girls were grade-A nasty.

“Oooh, just how I like ‘em.”

“Tig, you’re a freak man.”

“And you love me, what does that say about you, hmm?” He blew her a kiss and sauntered out of the room. Chris shook her head and followed him out.

She grabbed the bowl she’d filled up before Tig arrived, and motioned for him to come with her to where the Scot was.

She and Tig were knocked back by what they saw when they entered the room. Beads of sweat stood out over the man’s entire body, and his skin was tightly swollen surrounding the wounds on his face.

“Tig…what’s his name?” The question she’d forgot to ask all this time suddenly seemed like the only thing that mattered.

“Filip, Filip Telford.”


	4. The Cruelty

“Filip.” Chris whispered under her breath. She walked over to the man, crouching down beside his head, “Filip, I don’t know if you can hear me, but weve got to get you fixed up now. You’ve got some sort of infection and we’ve got to get it under control.”

No response from him.

“Okay Tig, Im going to need you to help me strip him down. We’ve got to make sure all of his wounds are accounted for and cleaned up.” She said as she began cutting the shirt off of Filip, throwing it to the door behind her. She expected some quip from Tig about stripping down another man, but he must have been just as shocked as she was, because he began tugging off Filip’s jeans without so much as a snarky comment.

When he was stripped down, even Tig seemed unnerved by what they saw. His whole body was riddled with bruises and gashes, many as deep or deeper than the ones on his face.

“Shit.” They both said in unison.

“Shit, alright.” Chris said as she took a deep breath and sprang into action. She decided to start by cleaning off his face. “Tig, you hold him down, if he starts to move. Otherwise, you start cleaning the rest of him.” He nodded in agreement.

She moved the small bedside table between them, with the bowls of water and towels. She grabbed a rag and soaked it, wringing it out before moving to his face. “Seriously Tig, hold him down — hard, I don’t know how he’ll react to this.” Tig nodded, with a look of seriousness behind his gaze that Chris rarely saw.

She brushed Filip’s hair from his face, noticing for the first time how young he looked under all the hurt. She began clearing out the wounds. They’d obviously gone a few weeks without good tending to.

She worked slowly and methodically, making sure to be gentle, and to clean the dried filth away in steps. First soaking it for a few moments, then lightly wiping the towel over, removing what would come away easily. She repeated this several times, managing to get most of the crud off. She then soaked rags in warm saline, placing them over each cut and waiting for a moment while the saline drew out the infection, before removing them, and repeating the process until the rags came out mostly clean, and flushed them out with the saline.

With the bulk of it gone, she could see the crude stitch work that had been done on him. _No wonder it got infected._ With the neglect and the bad stitches, it was practically inviting infection.

She decided to take out the stitches, and thought about restitching it, but decided it was a better idea to leave it open and pack it, rather than trapping the infection in to fester more. 

_No sense in closing up an infected wound._

She started work on his torso, while Tig took care of his legs and kept changing out the water. She noted old scars, tattoos, bruised knuckles, and old breaks in fingers.A couple of bullet scars, noth in the abdomen, near the liver; one scar that looked like a stab wound, right between the ribs on the left side; marks and reminders of a hard life.

_Jesus, how’re you still alive?_

Every inch of him was a mess, either broken, cut, swollen, bruised, or scarred.

They worked together in silence for quite some time. When Chris was satisfied that they’d not missed anything, she retrieved a new set of sheets from the closet, as well as a pair of sweats. Tig helped her change out the sheets, and they simply had to throw out the pillow that Filip had been lying on; it was soaked through with sweat and blood.

Chris had Tig get a couple of trash bags from the kitchen, ans went about stripping one of the remaining pillows from the bed, covering it with a trashbag before slipping a pillowcase on it.

They stepped back after going over him twice to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. Tig helped her dress him in the sweatpants she had, and they got him settled onto the bed.

She looked at the clock on the wall, groaning. “Shiiittt.” It was almost 5 in the afternoon, but to Chris is felt more like 2 in the morning.

“ughhhhh. I think it’s time for me to get some sleep Tig.”

He yawned right as she said it, “haha yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You not sleep well last night either?” She shook her head, yawning as she grabbed the towels and rags they’d used and threw them in the pile of sheets by the door with Filip’s clothes. Tig grabbed up the bowls and other supplies and carried them off, while she took the pile of laundry and threw it in the washer.

Tig met her back in the living room, where she was grabbing blankets and pillows out of the trunk and making up the couch for sleeping. 

“Guess I’ll take the couch” Tig murmered as he yawned again.

“Nah, I’ll take the couch. You go ahead and take my room.”

“Chrissy…” a concerned glance came over his face.

“I’ll be fine Tiggy, what’s he going to do?” She  tried to reassure him, “I’ll holler if I need you, okay?”

He sighed, “Fine, but if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Yessir, Mr. Mayhem.” She saluted him as he walked away into her room, throwing up his middle finger at her as he disappeared around the corner.

She went to call the dogs in from the yard, and closed the back door behind them. It wasn’t quite time for their dinner, but she figured that they really wouldn’t mind eating early. She poured their food and grabbed a protein bar for herself, realizing that she’d not eaten since the day before.

She turned out the lights in the living room, and collapsed onto the couch. She pulled a blanket over her head to block out the remnants of daylight that were still coming in from outside. She felt one of the dogs — she assumed Harley — slowly crawl up with her, and wedge his way between her and the back of the couch, and then she was out.

#############################################

She woke when the dogs stirred. She heard noises coming from Filip’s room. She walked into his room; he was gasping and shaking fiercely, covered in sweat once more.

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit_

“Tig! Tig get in here now!!!”  She stripped the sweatpants off of him. He was burning up.

“Jesus.” Tig had come stumbling into the room, still trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

“Go get the bucket from the garage and fill it up with ice.” He stared at her. “Go — NOW!”

He sort of shook awake, and then ran off. She ran to the bathroom across the hall and turned on the cold water in the tub. She grabbed some rubbing alcohol from under the sink and dumped half the bottle into the water, hoping to keep any bacteria in the tub at bay. She ran back into the room right as Tig was coming back with the bucket.

“Go dump that in the bathtub.” Tig headed to the bathroom as she ran to grab her phone from the living room, dialing Clay.

 _What the hell is going on?!_ She thought as the line was ringing. _God, Clay, pick up! Pick up!_

“What the hell’s going on?” Clay’s voice on the other end.

“Oh thank God. Clay, it’s the scotsman, there’s something wrong with him. He needs a doctor.”

There was complete silence on the other end of the line.

“What should I do?” She was panicking. She could stitch guys up, but she couldn’t deal with this without a professional.

“Just sit tight, do what you can. I’ll get someone to you.”

She hung up without replying, setting the phone on the bed next to Filip.

She touched her hand to Filip’s forehead. “Fucking shit.” He was burning up. Hot.

“What do we need to do?” Tig was back in the room.

“Help me get him into the tub.”

She went to his feet as Tig went to grab his shoulders.

“Ready?” He nodded. “Go.” They lifted him up, and all she could notice as they shuffled him out of the room was how hot his skin was. He didn’t even stir when they moved him, just kept shivering and moaning.

Tig hesistated as they got to the bathroom, “You sure about this?”

Chrissy sighed, “Honestly, no, but if we don’t get his fever down he’ll die anyways. This is all I can think to do.” He nodded at her, and they put him into the tub. Chris was barely able to turn of the knob before he came to, as he gasped and started thrashing in the tub.

She knelt down beside him, “Hey hey hey, easy now.” She talked to him like she was talking to one of her horses when they were spooked, “Easy. Just try and relax. Look at me, look at me.” He took a second of wildly looking around before his eyes focused desperately on her own, and though he was looking right at her, Chris could tell that he wasn’t really seeing _her_.He was shaking, and struggling to catch his breath.

She cupped under his chin in her hands, “Filip, _look_ at me.”

For a long moment, they stared at one another, Filip’s face twitching in pain with each gasp he drew, those dark eyes of his, holding a tortured and twisting expression.

Before she could think anymore into it, he seemed to collapse into himself, and his breathing became desperate as he clutched at his chest. Water pooled out of the tub as he sank further into it.

“What the hell is happening?!”Chris had forgot Tig was even in the room.

“I don’t know!” She stared down at Filip in horror as he completely froze, taking a few gasps as his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Shit!” Chris raised his head out of the water, checking for a pulse, and didn’t find one.

“Chrissy, he’s not fucking breathing!”

She sat there, glued to the floor.

“Chris what the fuck do we do?!”

“Fuck!” She flew into motion, grabbing Filip under the arms and heaving him out of the tub on top of her, soaking herself and the entire floor. Tig helped move her out from under him, and she whipped around and straddled his waist. She started doing compressions on his chest, and hoped to God she remembered her CPR training well enough for this to work.

She wasn’t sure if she didn exactly how many compressions she was supposed to before she breathed. She didn’t really care either. She just did what felt right, whatever that was.

_You are not about to die on me! Not him, not anyone; not again._

Finally, his chest heaved as he took in a breath, and she slid off onto her feet beside him as he coughed, coming back to them.

“Thank God.” She heard Tig breathe out next to her. She leaned into him, and he put his arms around her and held her close. “You okay?”

“Yeah” she sighed heavily as she turned and pressed her forehead into his neck, “Yeah, I’m good.”

He leaned his head down to meet hers, “You did great…saved his life.”

She closed her eyes and put her full weight into him, trying to drown out for a moment breathing of the man on the floor. Tig gathered her tightly against his chest, and she listened to the thudding of his heart — strong and steady — letting it lull her, as the pounding of her own heart finally began to quiet.

Chris spoke after a moment, “Okay, we need get him back into the bed.”

“What about his fever?” Tig spoke softly to her, but she could hear his voice deep in his chest.

“Fuck it. I don’t know what else to do. We obviously can’t do that again.” She pushed up reluctantly from Tig, and they both got up, and Chris grabbed a towel from under the sink and draped it over her shoulder, “You got his shoulders again?”

“Yeah.” Tig sighed, stooping over and grabbing under Filip’s shoulders.

“Alright then, on three.” They lifted him up and got him back into the bedroom, and Chris had Tig hold him up as best he could while she dried him off and slid the sweatpants back on him. They got him back into bed, and Tig’s phone rang and he went out into the hall.

Filip was still shivering, and his breath was still coming in tight, nearly imperceptible gasps. She sat on the other side of the bed near him while Tig took the call.

She lightly traved her fingers up and down Filip’s arm, careful to avoid any injuries. She leaned her head back onto the headboard, wishing she had her grandda here to help her. She was tired of being everyone’s rock; of being the person that had to be strong for other people.

For once, she wanted someone to be strong for her.

Tig’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “That was Clay. Says he’s sending up one of Piney’s old war buddies. Says he’s a doc from some podunk town up North.” He said, trying to take a jab at her, knowing she was protective of her small-town roots.

“Watch it Tiggy.” She said with a smirk as she yawned.

“Want me to stay in here with him while you grab some more sleep?” He looked at his phone, “It’s only midnight, we could take shifts watching him.”

“No—“ she yawned, “I think I’m going to sleep in the chair in here, in case anything else happens.”

“Chrissy…”

“I’ll be okay Tiggy. He can’t do anything, and even if he could, I’ve got two ‘scary’ watchdogs and a ‘big bad biker’ in the next room.” Tig narrowed his eyes at her, but then softened. “Okay, but you get me immediately if something happens.”

She chuckled, “Yes sir, ‘dad’.”

He groaned, “Oh come on, I’m not _that_ much older than you.”

“Older is older Tig.”

He walked out of the room. “Goodnight, _brat.”_ He called on his way out.

“Goodnight, _dad!”_ She hollered after him. His head appeared from behind the door frame and he stuck his tongue out at her before quickly retreating.

 _Big bad biker indeed._ She laughed to herself.

She climbed out of the bed and into the chair, setting her feet up on the bed. Filip seemes a bit calmer than earlier, but he only took in small, quick breaths, as if his lungs were fighting giving up.  

She sighed as she settled further into the chair, “Please be okay.”

She wasn’t sure why, but she needed to know about this man. She wanted to know what made him laugh, what made him hurt, what movies he liked— who he was, what had happened to him, the life he’d led that left him with all those scars.

His eyes, and his past, so familiar yet foreign to her.

It was all she could think about as she drifted off to sleep. 


	5. Arbitrary Space

******Chibs POV******

He was awake, but he wasn’t alive.

He was drifting.

He should have been in pain, but he didn’t feel it.

Everything had been taken from him.

Everything was gone.

His soul was drained.

He barely noticed as they took him from one place to another; Ireland to California.

He’d met the SAMCRO president, and some other members. He didn’t notice their names or faces.

He didn’t care.

Two members moved him into a van, and then he was sitting in a living room, with some dog whining at him and the larger of the two members talking to some woman.

The two men leave and then he’s left alone with this woman.

She was the only thing he’d noticed since the accident.

Strong build, long dark hair.

But that’s all he noticed.

He was lost

Drifting

"Caomhnoir! Get down, now!" 

Garbled voices. That’s all he’d heard—until now. Endless white noise in an endless shuffle.

He looked down at the dog, near his feet. _Caomhnoir?_

"Caomhnoir…?” he spoke for the first time in days, his voice unrecognizable to himself.

"Well…that's his name. My name is Chris…”

“…Guardian…” He rasped to himself. His mind suddenly turned back on after all this time, all the numbness.

She kept talking to him, but he paid her no more attention.

_That’s what she’d called him; Caomhnoir. How does she know that? **Why** would she know that? Why would they bring me all the way here, to someone who knows Gaelic…She must have ties…_

Before he knew it he’d pinned her to the ground, smothering her, ”Why’s tha’ his name?” he demanded. The IRA must have planted her here, paid off the Sons to bring him to her.

No, not the IRA; Jimmy.

This was Jimmy O’s last shot at him. _Let me know that he’s taken everything from me—take me across the world, then kill me here, while he’s safe in **my** home, having his way with **my**_ _wife. Gutless bastard!_

“What the fuck do you mean?” She gasped the words out, struggling to get away from him.

"Caomhnoir! You obviously know! He must have planted you her at the beginning of all this shite! Wasn't everything else enough?!" He screamed down at her, tightening his grip on her wrists, using all his weight over her.

"What the hell's your deal?! Get off me!" She shrieked, still trying to twist out of his grasp.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" He bellowed down at her.

"Stop it, you jackass! Fucking listen to me!" She screamed at him, and sprung, throwing him completely backwards, and before he could react she’d pounced on top of him, pinning him down.

“Now listen!" she panted, “My grandparents are Scottish; my parents are Scottish; for Christ's sake,  _I'm fucking Scottish!_  My childhood was spent off the coast. My grandda taught me Gaelic because I was the only one of my siblings who was willing to sit and listen to him! From the old stories he would tell me, I happened to pick up the word for guardian, so fuckin' sue me alright?!” She shoved him down — hard — into the carpet, and stood up away from him.

His mind was reeling. There was no way in hell this was just a fucking coincidence.

_No way in hell that I get brought all the way to Cali and the SAMCRO  have teamed up with some Scottish chick. No fucking way._

He watched her for a moment as she stalked away, the dogs — _huh, two of them —_ following her and going outside. He reached up to touch his face, remembering everything. Everything he’d lost.

The blood pounded in his brain, throbbing with the effort of the memory. He’d been in plenty of fights before, but never had his whole body felt this broken. Even the air burned in his lungs—burned every inch of the skin it touched.

He should be wishing for her to kill him. He knew that this was the _real_ pain that Jimmy had wanted him to feel. For him to be alone and scarred, forever, alone with the crushing agony of his failure.

She had walked back over, and extended an arm down to him, trying to help him up. He did not accept it. He was starting to feel lightheaded, weary. He just wanted to pass out.

“Hnnghh!” He let out a groan as she reached under his arms and pulled him up, bracing him up against the couch. She crouched down in front of him, and he felt uncomfortable under her gaze.

“What did you get yourself into?”

He looked up at her, just taking in her face. She had a normal face, and her hair was tied back up behind her, a few strands falling into her face. Her stare was bold, relentlessly searching him, and he was glad when she turned away. He turned to just staring at the wall in front of him, lost in the emptiness of his mind.

He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to exist; he wanted to waste away.

He noticed when she came back that, well, he hadn’t noticed her leave. She was holding a bottle of Scotch in her hand.

You know, there's not a Scot I know that can resist the lure of good Johnny in front of him. My Grandda always said that there were only three things in life worth living for: The Lord and Savior, a pretty woman, and a good scotch. “She snickered, pouring the second cup, "Well, we've at least two of those things here. You'll have to find a pretty woman elsewhere, but, hey, two out of three ain't bad."

She offered a glass to him, and he didn’t react, like his mind no longer had any control over his body.

"Look…I don't know what happened to you. I don't know where you're from. Hell, I don't even know your name. But I can't sit here and do nothing with you suffering in front of me. You're my charge now, and the club expects me to keep you alive." She motioned again with her hand, attempting to get him to take the glass.

She spoke again, sighing, "Help me out?"

He thought about it for a moment. Even if this was some grand plan to kill him, would that really be so bad? And if not, well, hey, scotch never hurt anything. He reached out to take the glass from her, fighting to control his own arm. He realized then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d ingested anything.

He held onto the drink, thinking over the last few weeks. They were all a blur of pain and hate.

He didn’t notice that his hands were shaking, spilling the drink all over himself.

He did notice when her hand touched his, sending a jolt through him. Her touch was so cold, it made his whole body tense. He looked up at her, angry that she thought he needed help. He was no one’s charity project. "Jus' leave me alone lass."

Apparently, that was not the thing to say. She sprang up to her feet, ranting and raving about “Bikers-this” and “Bikers-that”, her voice thick with sarcasm. He found himself staring at her as she paced, complaining about all the guys she had to patch up, and the guys in the club.

_Who the hell is this chick?_

She sat back down in front of him, rubbing her face with her hands. “Look, I'm sorry." She lowered her tone, "Obviously you've been through something that I don't even want to imagine. I'm just tired of patching you guys up and dealing with all the shit that comes with it."

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say, nor did he patrticularly want to say anything. He just stared at her, meeting her searching gaze every time she pried into his eyes.

She spoke again, shaking her head, "Be that as it may. I still need to get you cleaned up. That's—"she motioned to his face, "— obviously infected. It's only going to get worse. Please, let me help you. The scotch will help with the pain. That's why I wanted you to drink it. You know it will help. Please?"

She held out another glass filled with scotch. _Well, what the hell?_

He took if from her and took it back, grimacing at the pain the motion caused.

After she drank a glass of her own, she reached over and soaked a towel, then brought it near his face. He grabbed her wrist, "Leave it be lass."

Her face fell, "It's already infected, and it’s going to spread. It could kill you."

"Let it then." He jerked her wrist out of his grasp, closing his eyes and leaning his head into the couch. He wanted to fade away into darkness.

After a few moments of her silence, he heard her get up and walk away.

He must’ve drifted off for a moment, when he heard her speak again she was walking through the room, and stopped in front of a doorway.

"That room's for you,” she motioned to a hallway on the other side of the room, “should you decide to move your ass at all tonight. It's a pillow-top mattress and everything. Lap of luxury here. Nothing less for my broken-bikers." Her voice laden with the sarcasm that seemed to coat plenty of her words.

He looked back to the hallway, but didn’t move. He wasn’t moving from this spot. When he looked back to the doorway where she’d been, she was gone. He noticed the big dog again, sitting a few feet from him, but he didn’t see the other one that had been here earlier.

 _Caomhnoir._ He didn’t know what to think about that.

He buried his face in his hands, but the sudden flare of pain caused him to hiss, and snap back away from his hands. When he looked down at them, he saw they were covered in blood and filth, mixed together making a repulsive paste.

 _Should’ve just let her clean it,_ he thought, but part of him told him that he deserved it for failing his family, for letting Jimmy rip them away from him.

He didn’t deserve them.        


	6. Lift the Little Bud

*****Chris's POV*****

She woke with a start—a feeling becoming far too normal for her. Filip was still asleep, but something was definitely wrong. He was still shaking, but not just shivering; actually convulsing, arms brought up to his chest, breath heaving and catching. Both the dogs were in the bed with him, on either side of his torso.

"Well if you guys think that's the right thing….who am I to argue with animal instinct?"

She got out of the chair and went to grab some blankets from the closet. She laid one down beside him, and crawled up onto the bed, drawing the other blanket over herself, moving Harley aside. She hesitated to touch him,  _What's he going to do? Really?_ She scooted over closer to him. He was facing her, and she was careful to make sure she didn't hit any sensitive areas when she wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his shoulders up and down. He began to whimper.

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay, you're safe here."

"He took them…They're gone." He mumbled, misery evident in his voice, "He wants ta kill me….I deserve it…Killed tha' boy….I'm so sorry lad…"

He was crying. She didn't know what to do. She had to calm him down. His sobbing coupled with his already labored breathing would not be good for him. She moved closer to him, drawing him into her more as she went.

"Filip?" He stilled slightly, talking a deep breath, and she kept going, "Filip, it's okay, you're safe here."

"No, he took you…I weren't there."

"Filip, I'm right here, he didn't take me anywhere." She hadn't the slightest what he was talking about, but she was willing to go along with it for his sake.

"No, no, you both needed me… _caomhnoir dona_ …I'm so sorry…"

 _What on Earth?_ She recognized the gaelic, but she couldn't remember, it'd been so long since she'd heard anyone speak it...

"Filip,  _nach raibh tú theipeann_ _,_ you did not fail us." Her accent was awful; she'd not spoken Gaelic aloud in many years.

But it seemed to work, his sobs lessened, and soon he was sleeping once more. She continued to run a hand along his back, tracing all the scars with her fingertips, and running her hands along the slight dips of his muscles. She started humming a lullaby her grandfather used to sing to her when she was restless as a child,

"Hush no wee bairnie, and sleep without fear. For Angus will bring you a dream, my dear. Can you no' just your weepin'? All the wee lambs are sleepin', Birdies are nestlin', nestlin' together."

As she sang, she felt his muscles begin to relax, and his breathing slowly calm down. She continued to hum, continued to trace along his scars, wondering the stories behind each, and the even bigger story behind his being here.

 _All in good time._ She told herself. She had her own fair share of scars, and knew that his stories would come out in time. Hell, only Tig knew her stories, and even he didn't even know all of them.

"For another time." She felt her eyelids begin to droop, when he opened his eyes, staring into hers. They stayed locked like that for a moment, his eyes searching hers, and her holding his gaze. He closed his eyes, and took a long, strong breath, and she felt like he would be okay.

She woke up to Harley on her chest, as usual, staring straight at her, and whining for her to wake up.

"Oh alright, alright. I'm awake. Get off me." She pushed him off her and he jumped to the floor, wagging his tail and whining, telling her to hurry up. She chuckled; she stretched, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She looked beside her; Khunny had crawled between the two of them some point last night, and was nestled up closely to the man.

"You gunna stay with him?" He stayed there, with his head between his front paws, just staring at her with his tail wagging. "Whatever you want buddy." She stood up and walked around the bed and gave him a rub between the ears. Looking over at Filip, she sighed, "Take good care of him buddy, he needs it."

She went into her usual morning routing; put on an pot of coffee — extra strong this morning — put food in the dog's bowls, let the back door open, fed the neighborhood cat harem, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She sipped her coffee while she pondered what to make for breakfast.

She wasn't sure if Filip would be up for eating, but she decided to make a 'light' breakfast, and hope she could get him to eat some of it. She decided on toast, grits, scrambled eggs, and some bacon.

"That's country light, right buddy?" She looked to Harley, who'd been watching her every move in the kitchen since he finished his breakfast. He barked at her, "Whatever, don't judge me" she laughed as she started to put everything on to cook.

"You want to go wake up Uncle Tiggy?" Harley immediately jumped up and ran into her room as she poured a cup of coffee for Tig; he was not going to be happy about this. She chuckled, and walked into her bedroom and she almost dropped the coffee she was carrying. Harley was completely on top of Tig, whining and licking at his face.

Chris couldn't help but laugh, "Should I leave you two alone?" Harley was barking and jumping all over the bed, trying to get Tig to play with him. "Very funny, get him off me!"

"Oh if you insist, you big baby." She dragged Harley off the bed and put the coffee in Tig's hand. He was completely disheveled; grey shirt, boxers, hair even more of a mess than usual. She snickered. "Why you gotta let him do that?" Tig scowled at her,

"Why is it so hard for you to give me a peaceful wakeup call?"

"'Cause I love messing with you too much." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Forgive me?" "

No." he pouted, putting his coffee on the nightstand and crossing his arms, looking away from her in defiance.

"Fine…" she said, making a sad face, "I thought you loved me…I—I suppose I'll just go eat alone." She turned to leave, and looked back over her shoulder, "alone and unloved."

She made to walk away, but before she could Tig lunged out of the bed, grabbed her, and fell backwards onto the bed with her on top of him in his bear grip.

She shrieked, "Let go of me!" she laughed as she tried to escape him, and keep Harley off of her now that he was back on the bed, barking and eager to join in on the wrestling.

"I will let go of you when you admit that I love you more than you love me!"

"Never!" She screamed defiantly. She managed to break free of his grip while Harley was licking his face, and she turned over and straddled him, pinning his arms under her legs. She stared down at him, daring him to make a move.

He grinned up at her, then used all his weight to flip them both over, with him now straddling her and pinning her hands in his.

"I win." He said with a smirk. She struggled for a moment before giving up.

"Fine."

"Yes…?"

"You win." She muttered.

"Aaaaaaaand?"

She groaned, "And you love me more than I love you."

"You'd better believe it missy." He said as he reached down to give her forehead a kiss.

"What would I ever do without you Tiggy?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." He chuckled as he slid off of her and wrapped her in his arms.

She always felt so safe with Tig. Which, she supposed most people around here would call her crazy for. He was a well-known 'disturbed individual' throughout the town. But he was absolutely harmless to her. That's not to say it was all an act, he was one-hundred percent fucked up, but she loved him, and he was her best friend. They were the perfect team. They both ran to each other when they really needed someone, which, in this town, was often.

She turned into him, burying her head in his chest, "I love you Tiggy."

He hugged her tightly, "I love you too baby-girl."

They laid there for a moment, before Tig shot up in the bed. She looked to the door, and saw Filip standing there, leaning heavily on the door frame, looking very pale, and Khunny was right at his feet.

"Oh, sorry. Dinnae mean ta' interrupt." He looked embarrassed — and also like he was about to fall over. Chrissy jumped out of the bed and rushed over to him, putting herself under one of his shoulders, motioning for Tig to come help her. "You're not interrupting anything. Did we wake you?"

He shook his head slightly, "Head barkin', came to make sure everything was alrigh'. The big guy insisted." He said, motioning down to Khunny.

He collapsed onto them as soon as Tig got under his other shoulder.

"Oh, shit, you got him?" Tig asked Chris.

"Yeah, yeah, got him." She said, a little out of breath, "Help me get him to the couch."

They got him to the couch; he still looked awful. His wounds were angry, and he was still shivering. She went to the closet and got a hoodie, and tossed it to him, along with a fleece blanket from the other sofa.

"Thank-ye'." He said while he shrugged on the hoodie, wincing as he went. He sat shivering, staring at the wall in a daze.

Chris took Tig aside, "Will you call Clay and give him an update? And see if he knows when that doc is gunna be here?"

"Yeah, be right back." She nodded as he turned and walked outside. She turned back to Filip and took a seat beside him.

"How're you feeling?"

"Alrigh'." He stared ahead, not making any movements aside from the shivering.

"Okay, well, think you're up to eating anything?"

He didn't answer.

She sighed, "Well, I'm going to fix you up something." She got up and went to the kitchen, finishing up the last of the breakfast. She fixed him up a plate, with some eggs and toast, and made him some tea with a little cream in it, and decided to put some orange juice on the tray for good measure.

She took the tray to the living room and put it on the table in front of him. And he looked to her, and eyebrow cocked up. She rose up her hands, "Don't shoot! It's not poisoned I swear." She laughed, and he lowered his eyebrow while staring at her still. She sat down beside him, rolling her eyes, "Look, if I wanted you dead, I'd have let you die last night. Alright?"

He looked back to the tray, but didn't move to eat any of it. "Whatever, eat it or don't. I'm not going to force it down your throat." She got up to make herself a plate, and sat at the table. Tig walked up and joined her, "Clay said the doc's coming sometime today, early afternoon probably."

"He trusts this guy?" She didn't think he'd hurt him, but she also knew a doctor that didn't see these kinds of things all the time wasn't likely to be able to give them any definitive answers, and she wasn't sure if she trusted his medical opinion.

"I don't know Chris, said Piney trusts him though. So I bet he's alright."

"Hah! Because Piney is in such wonderful health…" she muttered. Tig laughed, and got up to get something to eat himself. They ate in silence, until Tig spoke up, "Clay said John wants you to keep him here for a while longer."

She groaned, "How much longer?"

"He didn't say."

"Tig…"

"Look, he's safe here Chrissy. And you and I both know that if anyone around here is going to give him the type of care he really needs, it's gotta be you."

She thought about it for a moment, sipping her coffee. She sighed, "Fine. But I need to know the club has my back on this one. I need  _anything_  while he's here, it's taken care of."

"You know that'll happen."

"Yeah I know…"

"What's wrong Chris? I know that tone, what's bgging you?"

"Nothing, I don't know, he just… reminds me of someone."

He studied her for a moment, "Alright, as long as you're good."

"Yep. Good."

She looked over the kitchen, really needing to be cleaned, "About the club having my back…" She grinned as Tig groaned.

After they'd got the kitchen cleaned up, Tig went to go take care of some club business, and get some groceries for the house. Chris walked out into the living room; the food had been mostly eaten from the tray, and both the tea and the OJ were totally gone, and Filip had fallen asleep on the couch.

 _Poor thing, he looks so damned innocent._ Khunny was draped over his torso, managing to have wedged most of himself on the couch behind the man. "Good boy" she laughed, and sat down on the love seat. She turned on the TV, delighted to find one of her favorite movies on; Batman Forever.

"You actually like this movie?" She was startled, and she looked over at him, and he was looking at her. He was awake now, and looked like he'd actually been watching the movie.

"Yeah, it's one of my favorites."

He chuckled.

"What's so funny? You too good for a great batman flic? It's Val Kilmer for Christ's sake."

"It can be Val Kilmer all it wants, tha' donnae make it a good movie."

"Oh, just 'cause you have no taste." She said sarcastically and rolled her eyes at him.

He laughed weakly, and winced.

She sat up in her chair, leaning towards him, "You okay?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a few deep breaths in, hand placed over his chest. "Yeah, jus' donnae make me laugh anymore." He grinned at her.

"Hah, well I'll do my best" she said, smiling back at him, "Think you'll let me clean you up today?"

He went back to watching the TV.

"Oh come on man. Quit it. Look, I'm sure what happened to you was terrible, and I can't begin to imagine the pain you're in; physically or mentally. But you obviously want to live."

"You don' know that."

"Oh yes I do, or you would've died last night. You're fighting to live, whether your stubborn ass realizes it or not."

He closed his eyes, and she took a deep breath, thinking about her next move very carefully. She moved to the floor, crouching right by his face, and grabbed his chin in her hand, tilting his head up gently to meet her gaze.

"Please, let me help you." He searched her eyes, and she held his gaze, letting him look for whatever he needed. His head fell as his eyes closed, "I'm beyond help lass."

She tilted his head back up, and moved closer to him, "No one is beyond help. I know you've not given up, whether you know it or not, so I won't give up on you."

She looked in his eyes, repeating, "Let me help you." She needed to help him. She wasn't sure what is was about him, but she needed him to make it through this, and she had to be the one to pull him out.

"Alright lass."

*****Chibs POV*****

Fire burned behind those deep eyes of hers.

_What does she see in me? Why does she want to help me so badly?_

She went away for a moment, and came back with a tray of what looked like surgical dressings.

"What're ye gonnae do lass?" he asked nervously. "Okay. First thing's first  _Filip_. I'm Chris—Christian, if you prefer. Second, I'm going to clean out your wounds again. They need proper care so they can begin healing."

"Here, take these," She grabbed a bottle of aspirin, and handed him two, with a bottle of water, "They'll help with the fever and swelling." He took the pills, and drank most of the bottle of water. He suddenly realized just how thirsty he was.

She began to soak some gauze pads, and he tensed, knowing the pain that was coming. "You ready?" she asked as she turned to him, gauze in hand. He nodded.

It was only cold at first, a little tender after a while. She took her time, slowly and methodically, going from one gash to the other, never pressing hard enough to cause him any real pain.

He focused on studying her features to distract himself. She had a quiet, oval face, dark, and full of strength. Her eyes were a rich, full brown, set underneath arched eyebrows. He watched her as she tended to him, never stopping for a moment, her mouth set in an expressionless line. Her pulled back hair was falling around her face and shoulders in dark tendrils, what was still pulled back falling carelessly down her back.

After a time, she pulled her hair back, gathering all the wayward strands back into a tight ponytail. His eyes were drawn to the neck of her shirt, were her hair had previously been covering. As she bent and turned, soaking gauze and bringing it back to his face, he noticed the tips of a series of scars that came to just behind her ear.

In spite of himself, he reached out to touch them, wanting to trace his fingers along the raised white skin. She jumped, and grabbed his wrist, holding very tightly, her eyes piercing his.

"Wha' happened lass?"

She sighed, and loosened her grip, going back to cleaning his wounds. "It was a long time ago." She started, still blotting at his face. "My brother and I had taken the horses riding up in Santa Fe, in the Rockies. A cougar crossed our path and spooked the horses. My horse reared up and I fell off." She stopped fussing over his face for a moment, and turned to cleaning the gauze she was using, no longer facing him. "The cougar must have been starving; he came at me with no hesitation."

She stopped meddling with the gauze. "My brother immediately jumped from his horse to help me. I guess that distracted it, 'cause it went after him."

She was silent for a while, and he wanted to reach out to her, to offer her some form of comfort. But he didn't. It wasn't his place.

"I watched my brother get torn to shreds, right in front of me, before I was able to get the shot gun from my saddle." Her voice was fighting a losing battle, trying to hold steady, "I killed it, and radioed for help. He died in my arms a few minutes later... I was barely alive when the rescue team found me."

She had tears welling up in her eyes, a few spilling over. He couldn't help himself; he reached up to wipe them away. She just laughed, and shrugged him off. "Talk about opening up old wounds, huh?" She sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She went back to soaking the gauze and running it over his wounds.

"I'm sorry tha' happened love." She paused for a moment, "Yeah, well, it's all in the past. No sense in dwelling on it now." She straightened up, and seemed to have completely shaken it of, but he noticed that something was left, dwelling in her eyes.

He couldn't help but notice the confidence of her movements. Very sure about everything she was doing; no reservations. It reminded him of —

"Take the hoodie off."

He stared blankly at her.

"Seriously?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at him, she moved forward, and began to tug the bottom of the shirt up, and he grabbed her hands. She looked at him, still holding onto the sweater. "You needn't see tha', love." He hung his head, ashamed of the past that his own scars laid out.

She let go of the hoodie, but reached up to his face, her eyes brimming with tenderness and compassion. But he didn't want her to look at him. He knew she'd seen it all already, but he didn't want to see her reaction, didn't want her pity; didn't want her judgment.

He wanted someone in this world to think differently of him.

"Everyone's got scars,  _love._ " Her voice was quiet, little more than a whisper, but alive with meaning.

He hesitated, but pulled the sweater over his head. She ran her fingers over his bare skin, checking all of the fresh wounds there. He shivered, though whether from her touch or the fever he wasn't sure.

He sunk back into the couch, letting her clean and dress his wounds. There was one on his collarbone, a particularly deep and nasty gash, which caused him to grimace when she cleaned it. He let himself think about the night it happened.

They stole him from his home, and he heard them screaming for him. God that screaming, his wife and daughter… they did God knows what to them. They drove him to some godforsaken road in the country side, and beat him near death, then Jimmy came, and cut up his face. Letting him know he had taken everything from him, and would be enjoying them for quite some time.

They left him alive, but just barely; he wasn't even able to get up, much less walk on his own. He didn't know how long he was on that road before a car happened by. He was lucky enough that the man had stopped. Lucky that he recognized his cut. Lucky that he picked him up and drove him to SAMBEL.

_Yeah, you're damn lucky alright. You let your wife and child get taken from you, and you gave up. You didn't even try to get them back. You worthless piece of sh—_

"Hey hey hey, Calm down." His eyes flew open. She was staring at him, wide-eyed. "You alright?"

He realized his fists were clenched, and he'd started panting. He raised a hand to his chest and pressed over his heart. He couldn't get a good breath, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He tried to slow his breathing, regulate his heart even a little, but nothing worked. His eyes started to glaze over, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears deafening.

After a time, his heart started to calm down. He was shaking like a leaf, and wanted nothing more than to lie down. He was at a loss, "Wha' tha' fuck was tha'?" he asked her, with a shaky breath.

"You tell me… I've got a doc comin' sometime this afternoon." He looked over at her, wide-eyed, "Don't worry, he's a friend of the club."

She got up and sat on the couch next to him, "That happened a few other times last night…do you remember anything?"

He thought about it. "I only remember the dreamin', nothin' else." He drew back further into the couch as another pang hit his chest. "Fuck..." he drew in a hissing breath. "Here, do you think you can lie down?" She had a pillow in her lap, and had reached over to guide him down onto it. He nodded, not wanting to try and talk again.

When he'd lain all the way down, she covered him up with a blanket, and was rubbing his arm through it. What the hell was happening to him? The heaviness in his chest felt like a millstone, trying to grind away at his insides. He sank as far back into the couch as he possibly could, his body weary beyond endurance. He tried to think only about how nice it was to be lying on this couch, and how warn the lass's lap was, and focused on the rhythm of her hand rubbing up and down his arm. Before he knew it, he'd passed out.

*****Chris's POV*****

She sat there, with his head in her lap, running her fingers through his hair. He'd seemed to have passed out a time ago, his breathing settled into a steady, albeit weak, pattern. Beneath all the carnage on his body, he looked very innocent lying there, like a little kid in his mom's lap. She smiled down at him, trying to push the worry for him out of her mind for now. But he was shivering again, and burning up still.

Her phone rang, and she groaned, not wanting to move and disturb any sleep Filip was managing to get. Her phone was on the table though, and she could see it was Tig calling, and she needed to answer it. She managed to maneuver herself so she could reach her phone without getting up, and was able to answer it before it went to voicemail, "hello?"

"Hey Chrissy, how's our scot doing?" it was Tig.

"Not great Tig. He's a wreck. We need that doc to get here, ASAP. Did you find out anything about when he's coming from Clay?"

"No, he gave me the guy's papers from Belfast to give to the Doc though. Hopefully they'll help."

"What did they say?"

"Shit Chris, I ain't a doc. I'll let the guy decipher them when he gets there."

"Yeah alright. Could you go buy the store and get groceries and first aid stuff? I'll text you a list, you can come by and get my truck if you want."

"Nah, I'll grab the prospects and make them haul it all."

She laughed, "Awww poor Jax and Ope, you be nice to them!"

"Yeah, we'll see about. See you in a few. Love ya."

"Love you Tig."

She sat the phone on the arm of the couch, within easy reach this time. Filip tried to raise his head, then, with a groan, let it fall back onto the pillow.

"Filip?" his eyes fluttered open, moving in their sockets to focus on her, as if he dare not move his head. She stroked a hand through his hair, and his eyes fell shut once more. The fever still burned hot on his skin, and she silently prayed the boys got here soon with the doc.

She leaned carefully over once more to grab a cloth from the table, and dip it into the water, wringing it out as best she could with one hand. She used it to dab the sweat from his face, and let the cloth lay over his neck, allowing the cool to linger there. She felt a shiver run through his body, and she couldn't help but rub his arm, trying to keep him anchored in reality with her.

An uneasy feeling came over her as she watched him. Her brain thought him a dead man walking, but her heart refused to believe what her mind told her; she was stubborn that way.


	7. Gates of Mercy

When the doctor finally arrived at Chris's house, Filip's fever had returned to full broil. He laid on her, having curled into himself, and Chris had remained where she'd been for the past two hours, talking to him when he was awake, and trying to calm him when he wasn't.

Tig came through the front door with Jax and Opie behind him, carrying grocery bags to her kitchen, and Bobby and Clay came through soon after, along with another man she didn't recognize.

"Fucking took long enough." She muttered as they came into the living room.

"Hey Chris, missed you too." Clay came up behind her and clasped his hands on her shoulders, landing a kiss on the top of her head.

"Mmmmmhmmm." She rolled her eyes, and looked to the man she hoped was the doc. He had a plump, cheery face, with eyes that were deeply engraved by laugh lines that ran all the way down to the edges of his thick white mustache.

He sat down his bag on the floor by the sofa, and looked to her, "Well, you must be Ms. Chris McKendrick! I've heard much about you young lady!" he stretched a hand out to her over the coffee table to shake her hand, "Edwin Tunson, ma'am." He had a firm grip, and Chris already felt a little better about him.

Bobby plopped down on the loveseat, "So, Chris, what's the story with the Scot? Heard it's been a crazy night?"

"Understatement, Bobby, understatement."

Edwin spoke up, "Could you tell me a bit about it? I've heard pieces from what they've been told by Mr. Trager over there, but I would like to hear it all from you."

She recounted everything that had happened since Filip arrived, from how he acted and looked, to everything she'd given to him and done for him, including a fairly extensive list of all his worst injuries, and an even longer list of symptoms.

The whole time, she kept running her fingers through Filip's hair, hoping to keep him at ease through all the talking going on in the living room. Edwin was taking notes as she talked, and asked her questions quite often, which continued to enhance her opinion of the man's skills as a doctor.

Tig had handed the doc the papers Clay had given him earlier, and he spent quite a bit of time looking over them, making more notes as he read through. "Could I get a copy of these to have for while we're working on this? I'd like to be able to reference them."

Clay was about to protest, Chris figuring he didn't want the Scot's records in the system just yet, but Edwin caught him before he could voice his objection, "Strictly for my own sake, of course. They won't be filled away anywhere." Clay nodded his head and handed the papers over to Jax, who'd been standing in the background for a while with Opie.

"Chris, you got a scanner?" Jax asked her, and she motioned to the hallway, "Second room on the right." He nodded and walked off with the papers.

"Well," the doc sighed, "Let's get a swab and blood sample out of the way, shall we?"

She looked down at Filip; he hadn't opened his eyes during the entire time that she and the doc had been talking. She reached down, and pushed the hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear, "Filip?" His eyes opened slightly to look at her, "Do you think you could manage to sit up and let the doc look you over?"

From her time with the Sons, she was expecting at least some semblance of a struggle from him when it came to the doc, so it worried her when he'd managed to acknowledge her with merely a weak nod.

She helped him to sit up, mostly doing all the pushing herself, and got him where he was leaning back into the couch still, but upright at least.

The doc had produced a needle and vial out of his bag, and sat on the table in front of the couch. "Filip, is it?" he nodded his head numbly. "I'm going to take some blood, could you hold your arm out for me?" Filip remained motionless for a second, before lifting up a shaking arm, obviously trying to compose himself.

The doc made quick work of the blood draw, and moved quickly on to the throat swab, putting his hand behind Filip's head to steady him, and completing the swab in less than a second. Filip's face was pale and pinched immediately afterword, his hand resting on his stomach, the gagging the swab caused leaving him obviously nauseous.

Chris grabbed up a rag and wet it quickly, putting it on the back of his neck hoping to help alleviate some of the discomfort. He looked at her, smiling a weak smile, "Thank'ye." She smiled at him, reassuringly, she hoped.

The doc continued to look him over, listening to his heart and lungs, checking different lymph nodes on his body, checking over each injury, and lingering for quite some time on his face.

"Well, I'm going to prescribe some antibiotics for infection, and some painkillers, and something to help with nausea, should either of those medications cause it." He wrote the scripts and handed them to Clay. "Those wounds need to be cleaned at least two times a day, and you were right to keep them packed, though I should think they will be healed up enough in a few weeks' time to treat as normal.

"What about the chest pain?" Chris asked.

"Well, it could just be the stress of the trauma, but we'll have to wait until the tests come back to know anything more than that. Though even still, he'll probably need to go see a specialist."

She felt Filip tense next to her, and Clay spoke up, "You do everything you can before you send him to a specialist." He wasn't asking.

"Yes, Mr. Morrow, I'll do what I can for him, but if it comes to it, I'm not going to pretend I can help him if I think he needs someone who's more experience than I in cardiac medicine." Chris had to hide a smirk, people didn't often talk back to anyone in The Sons so bluntly, and it made her smile.

"As it is, you need to get those prescriptions filled right away, and he needs to begin them tonight. And miss—"he turned to Chris, "—do make sure he takes them.  _All_  of them. He doesn't need to have any remnants of the infection in his body coming back to bite him in the ass."

Chris nodded, "No problem Doc, I'll make sure he takes all of 'em."

"And go ahead and keep giving him acetaminophen every few hours for the fever, and keep cool compresses handy. If the fever doesn't go down by tomorrow evening, well, give me a call I suppose." He obviously wanted to tell her to take him to an emergency room, but knew that wasn't an option for her. Chris just hoped it didn't come to that.

The doc packed up his things, and everyone but Tig made to leave. Clay turned to her, "I'll get these dropped off on the way back to the clubhouse. Someone will drop them here later tonight."

"Thanks Clay."

"You have everything you need for now?"

"Yeah I think so; I'll let you know if something comes up. Thanks Clay." She got up to give him a hug.

"No problem girl." He embraced her in a crushing hug. "You take care of him, yeah?"

"Nothing but the best Clay, you know me." She smiled, and he kissed her head, and everyone started out the door. She grabbed Bobby before he got out of the door, "Hey, I know I can't know everything, but I think I need to be kept in the loop as far as why Clay doesn't want him in the system yet. This obviously isn't something that's just going to go away, and I don't want to accidentally do something that's going to hurt him because Clay doesn't trust me with all the information."

"What do you want me to do, Chris? I can't just go behind his back."

"figure it out Bobby, please. I don't want to be flying blind here."

"alright, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks Bobby, see you later?"

"Yeah, I'll drop by when I can."

With that, everyone was gone but her, Tig and Filip.

Chris looked over at Tig, who was sitting on the love seat with Harley gathered up into his lap, and then over to Filip, who'd slumped over onto Khunny who'd taken her spot on the couch.

She grabbed a pack of cigarettes and went to her backyard, leaning on the railing of the patio as she lit one. She stood there and smoked, taking long drags until it was gone. She lit up another, letting the smoke go to her head, making her slightly dizzy.

Tig came out, and she offered him a cigarette. They both stayed out there for a long time, neither of them saying anything.

"This is going to be a long few weeks isn't it?" She stared at yard as she spoke; more a statement than a question.

"Yeah. I think so baby-girl."

She sighed, and lit another cigarette.


	8. Solitude of Longing

The next week passed in relative uneventfulness. Filip had been getting better and better by the day, and hadn’t had any more terrifying incidents. Chris had been making sure he took all his medicine as prescribed, and the fever had almost gone away completely.

It had been a week since the doc’s visit, and they still hadn’t heard anything definitive back from him, but expected to within the next day or so.

Chris had settled into a new routine: waking, her usual routine, then reading or watching TV until Filip was awake. She’d then put breakfast on, clean and redress his wounds and they’d eat together. His appetite had been slowly returning, and Chris no longer worried over him dying every moment of the day. During the afternoon, often they’d watch TV, or Chris would read in her study, while Filip busied himself with other things; she’d seen him reading various books that she had around the house, and he’d been making his way steadily through her movie collection.

The guys came over a few times, and Tig pretty much lived at her house. At night they’d all play cards, watch movies, or just crash early, depending on how the day had gone.

This afternoon, Chris had retired to her study to catch up some reading she’d been meaning to do. She had a few kids in her practice that she was particularly worried about with her absence, and wanted to make sure she was actively keeping up with their cases while she was gone. She didn’t want to disappoint them when she came back.

She’d lain out on the floor, surrounded by a few books and her laptop. She was reviewing one of her boy’s files, referencing one of the new books she’d had Tig pick up a couple days ago. The dogs had come in with her, Khunny lying by her side, and Harley lying with his head in his paws directly in front of her. They’d remained that way for about an hour, when Harley decided to start messing with her.

He used his big black paws to actively stomp on her papers and books, sending things tumbling about, and whenever she’d rotate a bit to get away from him, he’d follow her.

“For Christ’s sake Harley! Ease off would you?” She’d grabbed his paws and was holding them down. She heard a faint chuckle behind her.

“Maybe ya ought to listen to him lass.” Chris looked up from Harley to see Filip leaning against the door frame of her study. “What?”

“Seems like he’s trying to tell ya to take a break.”

“Yeah, well, when he has a degree, maybe I’ll take his advice.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to her book, Harley’s paws still in her grasp.

Filip came in and sat beside her, grunting as he lowered himself down. He picked up the book Tig had brought her and flipped through it, “I’ve seen you reading this one before.” He flipped through it a few more times, “You’ve marked the whole thing up, why are ya still going through it?”

She snatched the book from him, putting it on the other side of her, “It’s a reference, I’m not sitting here actively reading it over and over just for the hell of it.”

“Oh aye, sounds like a riot.” He snickered at her.

“Yeah, well not all of us can just be mindless outlaw bikers for a living.”

“Oooh—“he put a hand to his chest, “—that’ hurt darlin’. I’m offended.”

“Yeah? Good. Maybe you’ll let me alone then?”

“Alright lass, alright.” He heaved himself up, staggering for a moment. Chris watched him as he walked away, then looked to the dogs, who’d been watching the two of them the whole time; they were both staring at her, wagging their tails.

“What’re you two staring at?”

Harley barked at her.

She groaned, “Fine!” she shut her books and hopped up, finding Filip in the living room.

She took her cigarettes out of her pocket, and held them up, “Join me for a smoke?”

She watched his face brighten, “Hell yes.”

They went out onto her patio and let the dogs tare out around them.

“I dinnae know you smoked.” Filip said as they sat down. She passed him the box and lighter after she’d lit her own, letting the burn of her first inhale linger for a moment. She was surprised he hadn’t noticed her smoking this week. She’d tried to keep it to a minimum, sneaking away only when necessary, but truth be told, she didn’t think she’d kept it under wraps well enough for him not to notice.

“I don’t often, usually only go through a pack or two a month. Past week or so though…” she laughed and took another drag. He nodded somberly and took a drag of his own.

They sat in silence for a time, occasionally throwing a ball for Harley. It was still mid-afternoon, but the clouds made it feel like it was near-dusk, and there were definite hints of a storm rolling in. The crisp air was a stark contrast from the rest of the week, and the smell of rain was all around her. It made her long for the few memories she could remember from when she was a kid, still in Scotland.

“I’m sorry lass.”

She looked at him, puzzled, his statement bringing her out of her daydreaming.

“For the past few days.”

“What do you mean?”

He took another long drag from his cigarette, “I shouldn’t be your burden.”

“You’re no burden to me Filip.”

He sat silent, finishing his smoke. “If you say so darlin’.”

“Filip, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why, in God’s name, do you refuse to use my name?” She smiled, blowing her smoke at him.

He laughed, grinning back at her, “I don’ know lass—Chris. Jus’ a habit I guess. Bothers you does it?”

“Nah, just odd is all. Reminds me of my family.”

Filip seemed to think for a moment, “How exactly did a Scottish lass—sorry—end up here in Cali?”

“Hah, well, short of it is when my grandma died, my grandda moved me and my brother to the U.S., to Texas. He was a sheep farmed in Scotland, and I guess he figured cattle would be a good change of pace—something to keep him busy. After I graduated, I came here. Same small town vibe I’ve always liked, but more temperate weather than I’ve ever known.” She laughed, thinking back to the blistering heats of Texas, and the ever-changing weather of the state.  

“Ah, Texas, tha’s where tha’ weird hitch in your accent comes from.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, “Weird hitch?”

He laughed, “Yeah, ya’ve got an undeniable undertone of Scot ‘neath the yank, but there was somethin’ I cunnae place until now.”

“I’ve got you hanging on my every word, huh?” she chuckled at him, leaning back into her chair and stretching out, letting herself soak up the elements of the beginning storm.

“Hmm.” He chuckled, “Yeah, I s’pose you do. You’re an interesting lass, Chris.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that then?”

“Don’t know many other girls that are as young and beautiful as yourself that have a PhD, their own practice, and moonlight as a trauma nurse for a bunch of mindless outlaw bikers.”

He smirked at her, and she couldn’t help the beat that her heart skipped. “Yeah, sorry about that comment, it just gets frustrating sometimes. The club always barging in at any hour they please, and expecting me to patch everyone up whenever it’s needed. Not that I mind doing it, I love all you guys; you’re all my family. But sometimes…”

“I know lass, our type can be a bit much to deal with.”

“What do you mean, ‘your type’?” She honestly didn’t know what he meant. Yeah, the Sons weren’t typically known as good guys, and they didn’t operate within the law a lot of the time, and lord knows they could be hard to deal with, but they weren’t evil people, they didn’t hurt innocent people, and they genuinely cared for their family and those that needed them.

“Outlaws, bikers, criminals—” Filip looked down at his hands, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “—we’re hideous people lass.”

Chris leaned forward in her seat, and stretched her upper body over the small table between them to take his arms in her hands, “Look, Filip, you are not a hideous person. Inside _or_ out.”

“You don’ know anything about me lass; wha’ I’ve done.”

“I don’t have to. I know Tig, I know most, if not all of the god-awful things he’s done. But he’s not evil. People may think him evil, but…people are quick to believe bad things about people, and much less willing to hear about anything that points to the opposite.”

Chris saw wetness forming at the corner of Filip’s eyes, and her heart ached for him. This man wasn’t evil, she knew that. She was sure he’d done terrible things, but he wasn’t evil. She’d been around truly evil people before, and he wasn’t one of them.

He looked at her and met her eyes steadily for a moment, before blinking back the tears. With a long, exhausted sigh, he stood up, keeping her hand in his. He walked over to her, and kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering for a moment.

“Thank-ye, Chris.”

“For what?”

“For giving a bad man some hope.”

Her heart swelled, but dropped again when he walked away. How was she going to be able to convince him that he wasn’t a bad person?

He was leaning against the railing of her deck, looking out into her backyard. The temperature had dropped, and she could hear rumbles of thunder in the distance.

She pushed herself up, walking over to him. She decided to put a lid on trying to make him feel like a better person for now; she knew there was no sense in pushing it.

She leaned against the railing beside him, slightly pressed against him, glad for the warmth he provided, and even more so that it wasn’t the feverish burn that it had been.

“Do you remember much about living in Scotland?” His tone had changed, but was still solemn. She recognized the tone, it was the same tone she had whenever she thought of home.

“Some, I wasn’t very old when we left. Around 8 I think. I remember the storms though. Heavy rains out on the ocean; I would fall asleep listening to the sound of the storm competing with the waves. I remember being scared of the storms when I was very young, and my grandda would take me onto his lap, and tell me stories of the otter kings of the seas and rivers, explaining to me that they were at home at both on land and water. He would spin the craziest tales about them being trapped by kings, and granting wishes for their freedom, and I would fall asleep listening to them.”

“He would do this every time there was a bad storm, which, living on the coast, was often. After a while, I found myself looking forward to the storms, as each new storm brought a new story about the otter kings and their mischief.” She laughed, remembering all the tales her grandda would tell her, their times out on their porch watching the sea as the storm battled with the ocean.

She took a deep breath in, relishing the smell of the coming rain, the feeling of the winds that were bringing in the storm.

She looked up at Filip; he’d moved closer to her as she talked, wrapping an arm around her. It wasn’t until then she realized she was shivering. “Let’s go inside shall we? It’s about time for dinner anyways.”

The broke apart and she missed his touch immediately.

She went to the kitchen to start something up for dinner, but really didn’t feel like cooking this evening. She looked into her freezer; she had a few microwave meals that would work.

She poked her head around the corner into the living room, “How’s a microwave dinner sound? I know it’s not like the gourmet you’ve grown accustomed to over the past couple days,” she chuckled, “but they are quick.”

He turned his head, lolling it on the back of the couch, “Sounds great lass. I’m starving.”

“Do you want chicken alfredo or regular marinara and meatballs?”

“Whichever one you don’t want, both sound good to me.”

“Marinara it is then.” She said to herself as she popped the meal into the microwave. She got the dogs some food and put it down while she was tending to the meals, then brought out Filip’s and her food to the living room.

“What’re we watching tonight?” She asked him.

“There’s cartoons on, I’ve just left it on that all day today.”

She shot a grin at him, and they both watched the cartoons while they ate. They didn’t talk much during dinner, but Chris found herself and Filip laughing at the stupid cartoons in front of them, both happy at the mindless frivolity of the shows.

After a an hour and a half or so, she got a text from Tig, telling her he wouldn’t be there tonight; he’d gotten wrapped up in club stuff and he’d be there tomorrow afternoon.

_Be safe._ She texted him back, and then grabbed their mess off the coffee table and went to throw it away.

She got Filip’s prescriptions from the kitchen and brought them out, along with stuff to clean out the wounds, which were considerably less angry every day.

They went through their usual nightly routine of her cleaning out his wounds, and thought it was only around nine in the evening, Chris found herself unusually tired.

“I think I’m going to turn in early tonight, do you mind?”

Filip looked at her from the couch, “No lass, you get some sleep.”

“Ok, thanks laddie.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, “Really?”

“Until the ‘lass’ thing stops, you’re laddie to me.” She heard him chuckle as she retreated into her room for the evening.

She didn’t even bother showering; she just changed into some sweats and a big t-shirt, and climbed into bed. The storm had finally arrived, and she closed her eyes, listening to the patter of the rainfall on her bedroom windows. Khunny and Harley had jumped up on the bed and curled around her, and she drifted off to sleep easily.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me some feedback if you enjoyed it!
> 
> Hell, leave me feedback if you didn’t enjoy it! 
> 
> As always, I love you all,  
> Sphered Rhyme


End file.
